EX-LIBRIS 


THE    JEWISH     PUBLICATION    SOCIETY 
OF    AMERICA 

LOANED  TO  THE 
INTERCOLLEGIATE   MENORAH    ASSOCIATION 

FOR    USE    AT 

UNIVERSITY    OF    CALIFORNIA 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 

BY 

MARTHA  WOLFENSTEIN 


PHILADELPHIA 
THE  JEWISH  PUBLICATION  SOCIETY  OF  AMERICA 


1i 


COPYRIGHT,  1901 

BY 
THE  JEWISH  PUBLICATION  SOCIETY  OF  AMERICA 


ALL   RIGHTS    RESERVED 


JSorfc  Ql^aftttnore 

BALTIMORE,    MD.,    U.  S.  A. 


TO    THE    ORIGINAL 

SHIMMELE, 

THE  PRECIOUS  SOURCE 

OF  ALL  I  HAVE  ACCOMPLISHED 

OR  MAY  ACCOMPLISH 

IN  THIS  LIFE 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I    THE  GASS n 

II  SHIMMELE  AND  MUHME  MARYAM    ...      31 

III  How  SHIMMELE  BECAME  A  SCEPTIC —    .      51 

IV  AND  A  SCOFFER 69 

V  SHIMMELE  CHOOSES  A  PROFESSION  ...      85 

VI     THE  BACKSTUB 107 

VII     A  DILEMMA 125 

VIII  MARYAM  ADMINISTERS  JUSTICE    .   .    .   .    143 

IX    THE  KIDDUSH  CUP 161 

X     "  VETTER  YOSSEF  ' ' 183 

XI    THE  END  OF  A  ROMANCE 203 

XII  WHY  SHIMMELE  NEVER  PLAYED  ....    225 

XIII  TEARS 241 

XIV  THE  SOURCE  OF  TEARS 261 

XV    SHIMMELE  PRAYS 279 


THE  GASS 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 

i 

THE  GASS 

At  the  lowest  part  of  the  village,  along 
the  banks  of  the  stream,  whose  windings  it 
follows,  stands  a  long,  close,  irregular 
double  row  of  houses,  known  popularly  as 
the  Judengasse  (Jews'-street). 

The  village  lies  upon  a  gentle,  rounding 
slope,  not  unlike  the  side  of  one  of  the 
shallow  basins  in  which  the  housewives 
"  set  "  their  milk,  and  to  the  contents  of 
the  basins  may  be  likened  the  disposition 
of  its  inhabitants'  dwellings;  the  mansions 
of  Herr  Bur  germeister  and  the  local  aris 
tocracy  having  risen  cream-like  (nay,  we 
would  not  say  scum-like)  to  the  top,  the 

houses  of  the  common  people  going  down- 
11 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


ward,  in  order  of  degree  of  commonness, 
and  at  the  bottom,  the  very  dregs,  are  the 
homes  of  the  people  of  the  Gass. 

There  is  an  ancient  belief,  so  strongly 
grounded  as  to  have  become  proverbial, 
that  all  Jews  are  rich.  Who  has  not  heard 
the  saying,  "rich  as  a  Jew"?  And  yet  it 
appeared  as  if  these  gray  crooked  houses 
of  the  Gass  had  gravitated  to  the  bottom 
through  the  great  weight  of  their  poverty. 
Indeed,  after  centuries  of  fallacy,  it  has  at 
last  been  discovered  that  the  Jews  as  a 
people  are  the  poorest  on  earth.  Yet  there 
have  lived  men  in  the  Gass  who,  in  peace 
ful  intervals,  between  the  periodical  out 
bursts  of  Jew-baiting,  acquired  wealth,  and, 
in  their  day,  might  have  bought  up  Hcrr 
Bur  germeister  plus  his  coterie.  Even  Reb 
Noach,  the  present  Croesus,  had  he 
chosen,  could  have  exchanged  his  wealth 
for  the  rentier's  noble  mansion  on 
the  heights  (four  front  windows,  a  bell- 
handle,  and  two  plaster  dogs  in  the  gar- 
12 


THE  GASS 


den),    and    still    have    enough    left    "  with 
which  to  make  a  good  Sabbath." 

No,  the  real  reason  is  this:  for  so  many 
ages  have  the  Jews  of  Maritz  lived  in  that 
crooked  row  by  the  stream  that,  like  their 
ancestral  dwellings  and  the  ancient  nut- 
tree  by  the  pump,  they  seem  as  if  rooted 
to  the  soil,  and  for  this  firm  lodgment  they 
are  indebted  to  a  paternal  government, 
which  for  centuries  more  remote  than  do 
recount  the  chronicles  of  the  Gass,  and 
with  constant  zeal,  though  by  varying 
methods,  has  determined  for  them  all  the 
trivial  no  less  than  th,e  important  acts  of 
their  lives:  at  what  they  shall  labor  and 
at  what  not  labor;  what  they  shall  learn 
and  not  learn;  what  they  shall  wear  or  not 
wear;  when,  where,  and  how  they  shall 
pray;  with  less  effect  also,  what  they  shall 
believe,  and  among  countless  other  kind 
nesses,  where  they  shall  live;  and  to  this 
day  you  can  see,  at  the  head  of  the  street, 
the  great  rusty  hinges,  where  hung,  not  so 

13 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


long  ago,  the  strong  gates  behind  which 
they  were  securely  locked  every  night. 

Christoph,  the  farmer,  laughed  when  his 
friend  Anshel  explained  to  him  the  nature 
of  these  relics.  Hey !  to  think  of  crooked 
Itzig  and  apoplectic  Reb  Yoiness  and  tim 
id  little  Moishe  and  their  kind  caged  be 
hind  formidable  bars ! 

"  Say,  Christoph,"  replied  Anshel, 
"  when  thy  lambs  are  in  danger  of  wolves, 
dost  thou  go  chasing  wolves?  No,  thou 
buildest  a  strong  gate  to  thy  sheepfold. 
Am  I  right?" 

Christoph  stood  gaping,  but  Anshel 
screwed  his  face  into  a  knot  and  winked. 

It  was  not  a  bad  way  to  explain  the  gates 
of  the  ghetto. 

And  now,  while  yet  we  stand  at  the  old 
gates,  pray  be  warned  lest  there  be  dis 
pleasure  and  disappointment  later.  It  is  a 
poor  and  ordinary  sort  of  place  at  the  best. 
You  would  laugh,  I  think,  at  the  modest 
sum  which  is  counted  a  fortune  there;  at 

14 


THE  GASS 


the  trifle  which  makes  a  competence;  at 
the  pittance  on  which  one  can  live  and  pay 
school-money  for  six  children.  You 
would  scoff  at  the  simple  merriment  which 
is  got  there  out  of  a  clown  and  fiddler;  you 
would  scorn  the  homely  Sabbath  dishes, 
whose  anticipated  flavor  comforts  the 
stomach  through  a  long,  hard  week  of 
bread  and  cheese;  you  would  wonder  at 
the  joy  with  which  one  feeds  for  days  on 
a  bit  of  Talmud  wisdom,  a  "  good  word  " 
which  the  rabbi  gives  forth  in  his  weekly 
Shiur  (Talmud  lecture).  And  do  not  be 
deceived  into  believing  you  will  find  any 
fascinating  problems  there  (they  are  so 
fashionable  now,  served  hot  and  hot  with 
spicy  vices).  No,  I  can  promise  no  such 
tempting  fare  in  the  Gass.  There  are,  alas, 
many  problems,  but  all  of  the  bread  and 
butter  order,  and  the  moral  law  is  yet  as 
purely  simple  there  as  when  it  was  first 
proclaimed  from  Mount  Sinai. 

There  is  another  fashion  now  the  rage, 

15 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


for  gilt  and  sugar  romance;  a  sweet  fash 
ion  this,  wholesome  yet  elegant,  but  to 
those  who  love  the  sweep  of  silken  gar 
ments  and  the  clank  of  spur  and  sword 
sounding  through  the  pages  of  a  book,  to 
those  I  say,  "  Turn  back." 

A  sword  in  the  Gass!  'Tis  a  fearsome 
thing  that  one  holds  gingerly  on  finger 
tips  when  Shaye  Soldier  is  home  on  a  fur 
lough,  and  lays  carefully  away  on  the  top 
most  shelf  until  he  is  ready  to  depart.  As 
for  silken  gowns — there !  I  had  almost  for 
gotten  Frau  Bliimele's  black  reps  and  Fran 
Malka's  dotted  one.  But  they  do  not 
sweep.  No,  one  carries  them  carefully 
bunched  to  the  ankles. 

So  turn  back,  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
This  is  only  an  old  crooked  street,  just 
wide  enough  to  hold  a  stream  of  sunlight 
at  noon;  with  worn,  cobble  pavements, 
where  puddles  lie  in  wet  weather  and  dust 
drifts  in  dry — a  street  full,  O  very  full,  of 
poor,  plodding  Jews  with  "  eyes,  hands,  or- 

16 


THE   GASS 


gans,  dimensions,  senses,  affections,  pas 
sions,"  like  all  the  rest  of  God's  human 
creatures,  though  counted  peculiar  and 
alien  in  the  world : — men,  women,  and  chil 
dren  such  as  you  could  find  in  a  thousand 
other  Jews'-streets,  in  as  many  obscure  vil 
lages. 

Pray  go  to  the  heights,  where  stands 
Herr  Bur  germeister's  noble  mansion.  He 
has  a  daughter  who  reads  George  Sand 
in  the  original,  and  adores  "  Elective 
Affinities;"  there  is  a  vase  of  Hungarian 
pottery  in  his  window;  also,  there  is  a 
view. 

I  for  my  part  am  going  into  the  Gass, 
let  follow  who  will.  I  cannot  resist.  I 
have  simply  got  to  see  who  is  singing  that 
lively  Lecho  Dodi  (Sabbath  hymn),  and  on 
a  common  week-day,  too.  With  a  vim 
and  a  swing  and  a  go  -worthy  of  the  best 
Obcr-Chazan  (chief  singer),  the  beautiful 
old  melody  comes  riding  on  the  air,  as  if 
the  Sabbath  stood  waiting  at  the  gate. 

17 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


Ah!  there  he  sits,  the  jolly  Bochur  (Tal 
mud  student),  on  Mendel  Shuster's  (Men 
del  the  cobbler's)  door-step,  wagging  his 
head  and  trilling  like  a  lark.  He  is  nurs 
ing  one  stockinged  foot  in  his  lap,  while 
Mendel,  anticipating  by  half  a  century  our 
modern  institution  of  "  soles  and  heels 
while  you  wait,"  is  hammering  away  at  the 
boot  thereof. 

It  is  well  known  that  the  bride  celebrated 
in  song  is  the  dear  holy  Sabbath,  and 
though  I  would  not  for  the  world  put  our 
Bochur's  piety  in  doubt,  I  fear  it  is  not  the 
one  he  has  in  mind. 

"  Come,  beloved,  to  greet  the  bride,"  he 
shouts,  and  his  voice  and  his  glances  go 
straight  as  a  shot  down  to  the  street-pump 
where  stands . 

I  warned  you  they  were  a  common  lot; 
ordinary  love-making  at  the  very  start;  on 
a  public  thoroughfare  and  in  open  day 
light,  too! 

He  is  only  a  beggar-student,  who  eats 

18 


THE   GASS 


Tag,1  she  is  only  the  daughter  of  the  feath 
er-woman,  who  lives  by  stripping  feathers 
for  the  beds  of  the  rich,  and  yet  his  black 
eyes  dance  like  the  sparkles  in  the  brook, 
and  she  droops  her  lashes,  her  face  flushing 
like  the  dawn,  quite  as  if  he  were  a  Fa- 
miliant*  and  she  had  a  dowry. 

There  are  not  many  people  in  the  street; 
the  men,  mostly  peddlers  and  small  trades^ 
men,  have  carried  their  wares  to  the  neigh 
boring  market-town;  the  women  are  within 
keeping  house  or  tending  shop. 

But  now  the  school  is  let  loose,  and  the 
street  is  flooded  with  children.  They  chat 
ter  loud  and  earnestly  over  their  games  of 
catch-ball,  and  those  that  play  at  hop-tag 
leap  about  with  tense,  solemn  faces  as  if 
they  were  performing  the  serious  business 
of  life. 

There   is    one    little   boy   among   them 

1  Literally,  ' '  days  ; ' '  meaning  that  he  eats  on  differ 
ent  days  at  the  table  of  various  charitable  people. 

2  Possessing  a  legal  right  to  marry. 

19 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


who  does  not  play.  He  walks  beside 
an  old  woman,  who  leads  him  by  the 
hand.  She  is  not  so  tall  as  some  of  the 
children  romping  about  her,  but  quite  as 
straight  and  brisk  and  agile  as  any  of 
them.  He  is  so  short  that  his  fat  legs  fairly 
twinkle  in  their  effort  to  keep  pace  with 
her. 

There  is  a  most  satisfied  sort  of  smile 
playing  about  the  little  woman's  mouth; 
she  looks  self-conscious  and  boastful.  Just 
see  her  glance  slyly  from  side  to  side!  O 
the  vain  old  woman !  To  look  at  her  face 
one  would  think  that  she  has  on  a  brancl 
new  kerchief,  and  a  gold  chain  at  least  a 
yard  long.  But  she  has  not;  no,  just  her 
old  brown  stuff  dress  and  black  cap,  which 
are  as  familiar  to  the  Gass  as  is  the  old 
street-pump. 

Then  what  is  she  so  vain  of?  Can  it  be 
of  the  little  boy  whom  she  leads  by  the 
hand?  She  holds  him  cautiously,  as  if  he 
were  made  of  porcelain,  and  when  she 

20 


THE   GASS 


meets  a  neighbor,  she  looks  wistful  in  her 
effort  not  to  look  proud. 

"  Good-day,  Maryam,"  says  the  neigh 
bor;  "  how  is  the  little  lad?  " 

"  God  give  him  life  and  health,"  cries 
Maryam  devoutly;  and  "  He  is  already 
learning  at  the  Flood,"  she  rapturously 
whispers  in  the  other's  ear. 

The  people  seeing  her  from  their  door 
way  say: 

"  What  nonsense,  the  way  she  makes 
herself  meshugge  (crazy)  with  that  Yilngel 
(little  lad) !  Why  must  she  go  fetch  him 
from  school?  Is  she  afraid  some  one  will 
eat  him?  " 

They  are  blind.  They  do  not  know  that 
Maryam  walks  through  the  street  with  her 
grandchild  Shimmele,  who  is  known  in  the 
Gass  as  the  Bochurle  (little  scholar),  for  the 
same  reason  that  Frau  Malka  goes  to  the 
synagogue  when  she  has  a  new  cap. 

They  enter  a  small  house,  older,  grayer, 

and  more  crooked  than  most  of  the  old, 
21 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


gray,  crooked  ones  there;  its  sole  beauty  is 
a  flourishing  window-box,  a  rare  thing  in 
the  Gass,  which  at  first  sight  you  might 
take  for  an  ornament,  but  which  proves  to 
hold  but  two  green  rows,  one  of  leek  and 
one  of  parsley,  condiments  both  highly  es 
sential  in  Maryam's  art  of  cooking.  The 
house  stands  at  an  elbow  of  the  street,  and 
thus  commands  what  is  quite  a  view  for 
the  Gass. 

Would  you  not  like  to  enter  with  them 
and  observe  the  Gass  from  its  bright  win 
dow?  Would  you  not  like  to  hear  what 
Shimmele  chatters  about  all  day  long,  and 
the  sage  tales  that  Maryam  tells  him,  and 
why  she  is  so  vain? 

Perhaps  you  think  it  is  not  worth  while 
— an  old  woman  and  a  little  child.  Per 
haps  you  would  wish  them  first  to  obtain 
a  "  character  "  from  the  neighbors.  Well, 
there  comes  Itzig  Polack,  the  teacher. 
He  certainly  is  a  responsible  party. 

"  Muhme  Maryam?"  cries  Itzig;  then  he 
22 


THE  GASS 


draws  up  his  shoulders,  screws  his  face  into 
a  fearful  grimace,  lays  his  finger  against 
his  nose,  and  whistles  through  his  pursed 
up  lips,  "  Pui,  a  Muhme  Mary  am !  "  and 
"Pui,  a  Shimmele!" 

Extravagant  praise  that?  Well,  perhaps 
it  is;  Reb  Itzig  is  inclined  to  be  an  extrem 
ist. 

But  there  sits  Frau  Malka  at  her  win 
dow,  calm,  corpulent,  and  prosaic.  She 
has  been  Maryam's  neighbor  for  twenty 
years.  Surely  she  ought  to  know. 

"  Come  in,  come  in,"  cries  Frau  Malka. 
"  Fradel,  put  on  the  coffee-pot !  Nu,  take 
a  seat.  Of  Maryam  you  wish  to  know? 
Is  it  a  wedding  cake?  You  may  trust  her; 
my  head  on  it,  you  will  be  pleased.  Such 
a  cook  one  does  not  meet  with  every  day. 
Have  you  never  heard  what  the  Count 
said?  He  was  at  Shlome's  one  day  to  see 
about  the  new  lease,  and  Frau  Perl  served 
him  a  glass  of  wine  and  a  piece  of  tart. 
Nu,  will  you  believe  it?  He  ate  every  bit 

23 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


and  licked  the  crumbs  off  his  moustache. 
'  Not  bad  that/  he  said,  '  not  bad/  My 
word,  that's  what  he  said.  Maryam  made 
it!  But  what  she  sees  in  that  Shimmele 
of  hers  to  make  such  a  fuss  about  is  more 
than  I  can  understand,  and  at  her  age,  too. 
Soil  ich  leben,  meshugge!  But  beyond  that 
she  is  clever!  As  I  live,  she  can  pasken 
(answer  ritual  questions)  as  well  as  any 
rabbi.  I  well  remember  the  answer  she 
sent  me  one  day.  I  was  expecting  my 
mother-in-law,  and  had  just  got  a  beautiful 
dish  of  cream  for  supper.  Well,  what  do 
you  think  that  little  rascal,  my  cat  Mizi, 
did?  He  jumped  on  the  shelf,  and  began 
to  lick  at  the  cream.  '  Wai! '  I  cried,  '  the 
cream  is  trefa '  (ritually  unclean,  hence  for 
bidden),  for  Miz  had  just  finished  gnawing 
a  soup-bone.  Imagine  my  fix !  The  milk- 
woman  was  gone,  my  mother-in-law  could 
not  drink  coffee  without  cream.  I  wanted 
to  send  and  ask  the  rabbi  if  we  might  use 
the  cream,  but  he  was  away  to  a  wedding. 

24 


THE  GASS 


Then  I  thought  of  Maryam.  '  If  Miz 
washed  his  snout  after  the  soup-bone/  said 
Maryam,  '  the  cream  is  not  trefa'  I  knew 
that  Miz  always  did  wash  after  eating,  so 
we  had  the  cream  for  supper.  Ai,  a  smart 
woman,  Maryam!  They  do  say  she  reads 
German  books  with  not  a  word  of  Yid- 
dishkeit  (Judaism)  in  them.  Nu,  mei'  Sorg! 
I  have  heard  tell  that  there  are  even  rabbis 
nowadays  who  study  Latin.  If  they,  why 
not  she?  I  tell  you  she  has  a  true  Jewish 
heart.  She  has,  nebbich,  not  much,  and 
must  work  hard  for  her  little  bite  to  eat. 
As  I  live,  she  gives  away  more  than  she 
has.  But  to  talk  to  her  one  would  not 
guess  how  smart  she  is.  She  likes  nothing 
so  well  as  to  talk  about  cats.  She  loves  to 
listen  for  hours  while  I  talk  about  my 
Mizi,"  says  the  childless  Frau  Malka. 

This  is  a  neighbor's  report.  Would  you 
wish  to  consult  still  a  higher  authority? 
Very  well,  here  comes  the  rabbi,  the  ven 
erable  Reb  Yoshe  Levison.  His  long  beard 

25 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


lies  like  spun  silver  upon  his  breast;  he 
leans  heavily  on  his  staff;  his  eyes  are  bent 
on  the  ground  as  if  in  thought,  yet  he  will 
gladly  stop  and  listen  to  all  who  wish  him 
to  hear.  His  lips  smile  benignly,  and  his 
mild  eyes  light  up  with  pleasure  when  you 
inquire  about  Maryam's  grandchild. 

"  Shimmele,"  he  says,  "  a  blessed  little 
lad;  he  will  some  day  be  a  great  Chocham 
(scholar),  but  he  needs  a  little  Makkes 
(beating)  now  and  then  to  keep  him 
humble,"  and  his  eyes  twinkle  roguishly  as 
he  speaks.  But  when  he  speaks  of  Mar- 
yam  it  is  with  an  air  almost  of  solemnity. 

"  If  all  Israel  were  like  Maryam,  Jerusa 
lem  would  never  have  been  destroyed,"  he 
says.  "  As  far  as  she  is  concerned,  the 
Messiah  can  come  to-day." 

Truly  this  must  convince  you  that  it  will 
be  worth  your  while  to  enter  Maryam's 
house.  I  for  my  part  am  going  in;  for,  if 
the  truth  must  out,  it  is  for  no  other  reason 
that  I  have  come. 

26 


THE  GASS 


I  might,  if  I  chose,  tell  you  the  fairy-like 
tale  of  the  wealth  of  the  Rothschilds,  or  the 
fascinating  story  of  the  Jew  who  rose  to 
the  papal  throne  of  Rome;  I  might  take 
you  to  the  romantic  old  ghettos  of  Spain 
or  the  ancient  one  at  Rome, — their  very 
stones  echo  with  memories  of  thrilling 
events, — but  I  prefer  to  come  to  the  old 
Jews'-street  of  Maritz  and  tell  its  homely 
tales :  how  they  lived  and  loved,  how  they 
laughed  and  wept,  how  they  worked  and 
prayed,  and  how  in  the  end  they  suffered  a 
mighty  though  unrecorded  martyrdom, 
because  I  know  that  droning  in  its  dingy 
synagogue,  or  coming  round  its  queer  cor 
ners,  or  laboring  in  this  little  house,  I  shall 
find  Maryam,  the  pastry-cook,  and  Shim- 
mele,  the  Bochurle,  without  whom  the  fair 
est  Gass  in  the  world  were  to  me  a  place 
without  light  or  life,  a  thing  void  of  zest  or 
flavor,  as  tasteless  as  bread  without  salt. 


27 


II 


SHIMMELE  AND  MUHME 
MARYAM 


II 


SHIMMELE  AND  MUHME 
MARYAM 

Shimmele  was  four  years  old  when  he 
went  to  live  with  Maryam,  called  Babele 
(granny)  by  him  alone,  Muhme  Maryam 
(Aunt  Miriam)  by  the  rest  of  the  world, 
and  it  came  about  in  this  wise. 

Maryam  lived  alone  in  her  little  house  in 
the  village,  while  her  two  sons,  Yossef  and 
Shlome,  worked  a  farm,  which  the  latter, 
Shimmele's  father,  had  leased  from  the 
Count. 

Two  or  three  times  a  month  Maryam 
journeyed  afoot  the  fifteen  miles  which  lay 
between  her  and  her  children,  but  from  the 
day  she  discovered  that  Shimmele  was  a 
prodigy  (Shimmele  being  a  fifth-born  this 
fact  had  escaped  his  parents),  all  this 


changed. 


31 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


It  was  at  the  dinner-table  when  grace 
after  meals  was  being  said,  which  in 
Shlome's  house  was  always  the  long  grace, 
when  Maryam  noticed  that  Shimmele  was 
chanting  along,  three  words  ahead  of  his 
father,  and  wagging  his  head  thereto  with 
the  ardor  of  a  Zaddik. 

Maryam  stared  open-mouthed  until  the 
child  finished,  chirping:  "I  have  been 
young,  and  now  am  old,  yet  have  I  not 
seen  the  righteous  forsaken  nor  his  seed 
begging  bread." 

"  People,  people,  did  you  hear?  "  cried 
Maryam  in  delight. 

"What?" 

"The  child!" 

"  Nu,"  said  his  father  with  a  shrug, 
"  why  should  my  Yungel  not  know  how  to 
bensh  (say  grace)  ?  " 

Shimmele,  still  in  comfortable  uncon 
sciousness  of  the  greatness  of  his  feat, 
rifled  Maryam's  pocket  undisturbed,  but 
Maryam  continued  to  stare  as  if  she  had 

32 


SHIMMELE  AND   MUHME   MARYAM 

been  granted  a  sudden  vision  of  Gan  Eden 
(Paradise). 

After  this  not  three  days  passed  but 
Maryam  spent  part  of  one  hovering  over 
Shimmele.  She  arose  in  the  night,  and 
when  the  family  at  the  farm  were  seating 
themselves  for  breakfast,  she  had  already 
covered  the  fifteen  miles  of  road,  and  was 
there  to  take  it  with  them.  Her  children 
remonstrated. 

"  At  thy  age,  mother !  At  least  let  me 
send  the  wagon  to  fetch  thee,"  urged  Reb 
Shlome. 

"  Adi,  what !  A  few  steps.  I  am  not  of 
the  weaklings  of  nowadays." 

Then  would  she  be  seen  beckoning  to 
Shimmele  mysteriously  from  a  corner. 

"  Shimmele,  my  gold,  I've  a  sugar-bun 
in  my  pocket.  Now  say  grace  after 
meals." 

And  Shimmele,  fixing  his  mouth  for  su 
gar-bun,  rattled  off  the  long  grace,  while 
Maryam  smiled  and  wagged  her  head  with 

33 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


keen  delight,  like  a  music-lover  at  the 
opera. 

One  day  the  secret  was  out. 

"  Let  me  have  Shimmele,"  pleaded  the 
old  woman. 

"  Mother,  what  art  saying !  "  cried  Perl, 
Shimmele's  mother.  "  The  child  would 
grieve  unto  death  away  from  me.  Shim 
mele,  wouldst  leave  me  and  go  live  with 
thy  granny?  " 

Shimmele  dug  his  fingers  through  his 
mother's  apron-band  and  looked  doubtful. 
Then  he  remembered  that  Maryam  is  that 
entrancing  creature  whose  pocket  holds  a 
seemingly  inexhaustible  store  of  crooked 
bits  of  sugar. 

"  I'd  like  it,"  he  decided  promptly. 

"  Woe  is  me !  "  cried  Perl.  "  Who  ever 
heard  of  a  Jewish  mother  parted  from  her 
child ! " 

"  Who  speaks  of  parting?  "  said  Shlome, 
her  husband.  "  Does  he  not  go  to  his 
grandmother?  Thou  hast  four  others, 

34 


SHIMMELE   AND   MUHME   MARYAM 

and,"  he  added  softly,  "  my  mother  is  a 
lonely  woman." 

Perl  pressed  the  child  to  her  heart,  but 
Maryam's  patient,  wistful  face  prevailed,  so 
Shimmele  went  to  live  with  his  grand 
mother. 

He  found  Maryam's  house  a  pleasant 
place  to  live  in,  for,  though  it  contained 
only  two  rooms,  one  of  them  was  the  fas 
cinating  Backstub  (bake-room),  where  her 
famous  cakes  and  tarts  were  made,  and 
where  stood  the  great  oven  in  which  the 
Sabbath  dinners  of  the  whole  congregation 
were  cooked. 

In  those  days  an  "  abomination "  who 
would  touch  fire  on  the  Sabbath  was  still 
unknown  in  the  Gass,  and  Maryam's  great 
oven,  whose  fire,  which  glowed  for  twenty- 
four  hours,  was  kindled  on  Friday  after 
noon,  did  service  for  all. 

To  you  unfortunates  whose  palates  have 
never  made  acquaintance  with  her  crea 
tions,  be  it  known  that  Maryam  was  an 

35 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


artist,  famed  far  and  wide  for  her  skill  in 
cookery.  Indeed,  there  was  not  a  festivity 
within  ten  miles  around  for  which  she  did 
not  prepare  the  feast.  Odd  times,  when 
betrothals,  weddings,  and  Bar  Mitzvahs 
were  not  pressing,  she  filled  in  with  the 
baking  of  small  cakes,  Kilchcle,  made  of 
almonds  and  hard-boiled  eggs.  These 
keep  well  when  packed  in  earthen  jars,  and 
are  useful  for  unforeseen  occasions,  such  as 
an  unannounced  visit  from  a  rich  relative; 
in  which  event  the  whole  Gass  felt  secure 
in  the  accessibility  of  these  dainties. 

Maryam's  cakes  played  a  prominent 
role  at  many  a  Beschau,1 — an  occasion 
on  which  the  desired  bridegroom  came  to 
inspect  the  would-be  bride, — when  they 
served  as  a  toothsome  though  false  evi 
dence  of  her  highly-prized  culinary  accom 
plishments. 

Shimmele  had  never  in  his  life  been 
away  from  the  farm,  and  at  first  he  was 

literally,  "inspection." 
36 


SHIMMELE  AND   MUHME   MARYAM 

dazed  by  the  mysteries  of  a  new  world, 
where  out-of-doors  was  so  narrow  and 
small,  with  a  wonderful  thing  of  stone  in 
the  middle  of  it;  not  a  well  nor  a  brook, 
yet  spitting  water  out  of  a  black  mouth  all 
day  long.  And  where  the  people  lived  in 
rows,  like  cows  in  stalls,  but  all  the  rest 
was  a  jumble,  for  you  could  not  tell  which 
was  yours  and  which  another's,  there  being 
neither  hedges  nor  fences.  And  where 
granny  went  to  a  mysterious  somewhere, 
and  came  back  with  a  jug  of  milk,  though 
there  was  not  a  cow  to  be  seen.  And  she 
said,  "  Shimmele,  go  fetch  me  va  dozen 
eggs,"  and  though  you  looked  and  looked, 
you  could  not  find  a  single  nest. 

And  wonder  of  wonders.  Not  sheep  but 
children — truly,  children — went  to  pasture 
in  this  strange  world;  all  running,  like 
sheep,  one  way  in  the  morning  and  back 
again  later  in  the  day.  And  there  was  a 
strange  place,  called  Schul,  lofty  and  vast  as 
a  forest,  where  people  prayed.  Not  sing- 

37 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


ing  quietly  in  a  corner  like  father;  no,  they 
shouted  and  shook  and  beat  their  breasts, 
and  one,  the  Chazan  they  called  him,  stood 
in  the  midst  of  them,  roaring  most  might 
ily, — because  he  had  a  toothache,  he  held 
his  cheek  all  the  time. 

But  more  wonderful  than  all  these  was 
Babele  herself.  Babele  baked  tarts,  but 
hear,  O  world,  and  wonder !  she  sold  them. 
O  the  madness  of  it,  to  have  tarts  and  not 
eat  them ! 

Yet  not  for  long  lived  Shimmele's  won 
der,  for,  like  a  sluggish  little  brook  which 
suddenly  finds  a  slope,  his  mind  now  rushed 
through  the  lands  of  knowledge,  and  in 
a  little  while  it  had  passed  the  everyday 
world  of  the  Gass,  and  run  on  to  the 
mighty  fields  of  "  learning." 

"  And  Abraham  was  very  rich  in  cattle, 
in  silver,  and  in  gold,"  or  some  equally 
wonderful  bit  would  Shimmele  cry  on  com 
ing  home  from  Cheder,  whereat  Maryam 
dropped  her  rolling-pin  and  shook  her 

38 


SHIMMELE  AND   MUHME   MARYAM 

head,  glorying  in  her  heart,  "  A  miracle,  a 
wonder  from  God !  " 

Who  was  there  in  the  Gass  to  dispute 
Maryam's  word? 

"A  wonder-child,"  insisted  she.  "A 
wonder-child,"  repeated  the  Gass,  and  in 
time  they  came  to  believe  it. 

Yet  it  must  be  confessed  that  for  a  ge 
nius  Shimmele's  external  was  remarkably 
normal.  He  was  not  pale  nor  pensive;  he 
was  not  given  to  attitudes  of  gazing  ec 
statically  heavenward  or  with  forefinger 
pressed  to  brow,  as  you  see  geniuses  in 
pictures;  in  fact,  there  was  nothing  at  all 
unusual  about  the  physical  Shimmele — 
just  a  little  round  boy,  with  a  shock  of 
tawny  curls,  big  gray-blue  eyes,  two  puffy 
pink  cheeks,  and  a  mouth  which  was  never 
closed,  for  the  reason  that  another  ques 
tion  immediately  popped  it  open  again. 

"  But,  Babele,  where  is  God?  " 

"  God  is  everywhere,  my  child." 

"  Also  in  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars?  " 
39 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


"  Also  there." 

"  But  supposing  there  were  no  world, 
no  sun,  moon,  or  stars,  just  nothing,  then 
where  would  God  be?  " 

"  He  would  still  fill  out  all  space,  for  God 
is  always — and  now  hold  thy  tongue  with 
thy  nonsense." 

A  pause  while  you  count  three. 

"  Babele?  " 

"  Yes,  my  child." 

"  Suppose  there  were  no  God,  then— 

"  Shah,  Epikaurus  (infidel) !  " 

Within  the  compass  of  a  month  this 
quaint  pair  had  become  inseparable  friends, 
and  Maryam  viewed  the  past  with  amaze 
ment,  an  unthinkable  void  which  held  not 
Shimmele. 

Shimmele,  too,  soon  preferred  his  home 
with  Maryam  to  the  one  he  had  left  on  the 
farm.  There  he  had  been  of  little  conse 
quence,  but  one  of  five;  here  he  was  all  in 
all,  both  the  rising  and  the  setting  of  Mar- 

40 


SHIMMELE  AND   MUHME   MARYAM 

yam's  sun.  He  pondered  with  wonderment 
as  to  how  the  Backstub  had  existed  without 
him;  who  had  seeded  the  raisins,  blanched 
the  almonds,  and  dripped  the  vanilla  while 
Maryam  stirred  the  dough;  who  had 
wound  her  knitting-yarn,  run  her  errands, 
and  eaten  the  hard  crusts  which  her  old 
teeth  could  not  bite. 

Indeed,  his  uses  to  Maryam  soon  be 
came  manifold;  not  least  among  them  was 
his  service  as  her  newsbearer.  Fortunate 
for  Maryam  that  she  had  not  been  fed  on 
the  diet  of  modern  newspapers,  else  had 
she  found  but  little  taste  in  Shimmele's 
manner  of  reporting.  He  usually  told  the 
truth,  for  he  lacked  imagination,  and  hav 
ing  a  good  memory  he  quoted  verbatim. 
A  dull  and  profitless  manner  this,  as  every-< 
one  very  well  knows. 

"  Now  only  do  I  know  what  is  going  on 
in  the  world,"  Maryam  would  say  with 
deep  conviction. 

When  he  came  back  from  his  daily  at- 

41 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


tendance  at  Schul,  he  and  his  grandmother 
went  through  a  performance  that  might 
have  figured  in  a  game  of  charades  to  rep 
resent  a  page  of  Talmud  (granting,  of 
course,  the  wild  premise  that  charade- 
players  know  the  looks  of  a  Talmud  page) 
— Shimmele  the  Mishnah,  brief  and  in 
large  letters,  Maryam  the  Gemarah,  small 
er  text  but  voluble.  It  went  thus.  Shim 
mele  announced :  "  Anshel  Dorfgeher  had 
Yahrzeit,  he  wept  terrible." 

Maryam  commented :  "  Nu,  why  should 
he  not  weep?  And  if  he  wept  as  many 
tears  as  there  flows  water  in  the  Moldau, 
could  he  wash  away  his  sins?  The  Lord 
will  have  enough  to  do  if  He  forgives  him 
all  the  inches  he  snips  off  every  yard  he 
sells,  the  Ganef  (thief)." 

When  Maryam's  neighbor  Malka,  who 
often  sat  for  hours  with  her  knitting  in  the 
Backstub,  was  present,  the  likeness  to  a 
Talmud  page  was  complete,  for  Malka  rep 
resented  the  running  commentaries  with 

42 


SHIMMELE   AND   MUHME   MARYAM 

which  the  page  is  framed,  and  was  most 
voluble  of  all. 

At  such  times  Shimmele  learnt  all  that 
was  to  be  known  of  contemporary  events. 

"  Yentele  was  in  Schul  to-day,"  said 
Shimmele. 

"Yentele!"  cried  Maryam.  "What 
sort  of  Yontov  is  to-day?  For  Yentele  one 
could  change  the  proverb  and  say,  '  Out  of 
boredom  she  is  pious.'  ' 

"Nay,  nay,"  said  Malka,  "Yentele  is 
not  so  pious.  I  know  wrhy  she  went — to 
keek  after  the  men.  '  At  thy  age,  Yentele ! ' 
I  said  to  her  one  day,  and  she  got  dread 
fully  angry.  '  You  are  also  like  the  rest/ 
she  said,  '  and  think  measles  and  marriage 
are  only  for  the  young.  I  tell  you  one  is 
never  too  old  for  either.' ' 

"  There  was  also  a  stranger  there,"  said 
Shimmele,  "  with  Salme  Sofer." 

"  A  stranger?  Perhaps  Salme's  cousin, 
Awrom  Zaddik." 

"What    was    he    like?"    asked    Malka. 

43 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


"  A  thin  one  who  carries  his  head  in  his 
shoulders  as  if  he  were  always  dodging  a 
slap?  And  a  face  he  has  like  the  seven 
years  of  famine,  what?  " 

'Tis  he,"  said  Shimmele. 

"  Now  I  know  what  Yentele  was  doing 
in  S chul"  cried  Malka.  "  She's  angling 
after  Awrom  Zaddik." 

"What,  is  she  such  a  fool?"  laughed 
Maryam.  "  Nay,  nay,  Yentele,  thou  art 
too  old  a  little  worm;  none  would  bite  into 
thee  for  fear  of  breaking  his  teeth." 

"  He's  come  to  Beschau  for  Yentele,  I'll 
bet  my  head,"  cried  Malka  with  sudden 
conviction.  "  Only  last  week  my  nephew, 
who  is  a  clerk  at  Reb  Noach's,  told  me  that 
Yentele  bought  stuff  for  a  new  bodice. 
'A  new  bodice?'  thinks  I.  'After  Pesach 
-what  for?  '  " 

"  Soil  ich  leben,  Malka,  perhaps  thou  art 
right !  "  cried  Maryam.  "  Here  lately  Yen- 
tele  has  been  talking  nothing  but  Shtuss. 
'  If  a  man  writes  in  a  letter  of  a  maiden : 

44 


SHIMMELE   AND   MUHME   MARYAM 

Does  she  still  make  such  good  pickled  her 
ring?  do  you  think  he  means  anything?  ' 
she  asked  me  one  day.  She  must  have 
meant  Awrom." 

"  Now  I  know,"  cried  Malka  excitedly, 
"why  her  father  keeps  running  to  the  city; 
he  is  borrowing  a  dowry  from  his  rich  rela 
tives." 

"  Now  I  know  what  Gitel  wanted  of 
those  kosher  Kiichel,"  cried  Maryam.  "  She 
and  Yentele  are  as  thick  as  peas  together. 
He'll  be  having  supper  at  Gitel's." 

"  Maryam,  Maryam !  "  cried  Malka  tri 
umphantly.  "  'Twill  be  a  Shidduch  (match), 
as  I  live !  " 

The  children  of  the  Gass  envied  Shim- 
mele  because  he  lived  in  the  little  house 
where  it  always  smelled  of  good  things  to 
eat,  and  where  there  were  pots  of  sweet 
dough  to  scrape  and  stems  of  raisins  to 
nibble.  But  where  is  there  bliss  that  is  un 
alloyed?  Was  it  not  an  ogre  tHat  lived  in 

45 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


the  sugar  house?  And  Shimmele  had  a 
bogie,  and  its  name  was  prayers;  a  fearful 
and  persistent  terror  this  from  which  there 
was  no  escaping. 

Save  in  her  cooking  and  baking,  Mar- 
yam  was  not  so  regular  in  any  other  of  her 
occupations  as  in  this  of  teaching  Shim 
mele  the  Hebrew  prayers.  When  he  was 
five  years  old,  he  could  read  every  word  in 
the  thick  Siddur;  when  he  was  six,  he  had 
been  through  the  Chumesh  (Pentateuch) 
from  beginning  to  end. 

At  half  past  four  in  the  morning  Mar- 
yam  was  at  his  bedside,  saying: 

"  Shimmele  Lcben  (my  life),  come,  get 
up,  it's  time  for  prayers." 

First  they  recited  psalms,  Maryam  one 
verse  and  Shimmele  repeating,  but  when 
the  pale,  white  day  came  peeping  over  the 
housetops,  he  began  to  pray.  And  Shim 
mele,  hardly  as  high  as  the  table,  stood  in 
the  cold  morning,  one  foot  pressed  upon 
the  other  to  warm  his  toes.  On  his  head 

46 


SHIMMELE  AND   MUHME   MARYAM 

was  a  small  velvet  cap;  in  his  arms,  a  large 
black  prayer-book,  too  thick  for  his  small 
hands  to  grasp,  which  he  held  in  his  out 
stretched  arms  as  though  it  were  an  in 
fant.  The  weight  of  sleep  still  lay  heavy 
upon  his  eyelids,  but  he  chanted  the  long 
prayers  without  skipping  a  line.  Nay,  not 
a  single  word  did  he  slur,  for  a  pair  of  sharp 
ears  were  on  the  alert;  the  soup-pot  purred 
sweetly,  and  granny's  hand  ruled  the  ladle. 

To  and  fro  swayed  his  fat  little  body 
while  he  rocked  on  his  numb  toes  to  warm 
them. 

"We  beseech  Thee,  O  Lord,  to  make 
the  words  of  Thy  law  pleasant  in  our 
mouths;  "  but  the  words  of  the  Law  were 
not  pleasant  to  Shimmele  at  that  moment. 
He  was  wishing  that  his  hands  were  free 
that  he  might  rub  his  tingling  dot  of  a 
nose,  which  glowed  red  and  shining  in  his 
white  face,  like  a  cherry  on  a  tart. 

Had  the  Gass  been  less  rigid  in  its  reli 
gious  observances,  he  might  have  had 

47 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


comfort;  but  its  piety  was  unbending,  so 
Shimmele's  face  was  turned  eastward,  to 
ward  Zion  the  Joyous,  but,  O  mockery! 
it  looked  to  the  frosted  window-panes  and 
away  from  the  precious  warmth  of  the 
stove. 

"  Praised  be  Thou,  O  God  our  Lord, 
King  of  the  Universe,  who  giveth  the  cock 
knowledge  to  distinguish  between  day  and 
night,"  he  chirped,  and  "  Praised  be  Thou, 
O  God  our  Lord,  King  of  the  Universe, 
who  hath  not  made  me  a  heathen,"  and 
"  Praised  be  Thou,"  again  and  again,  all 
down  a  long,  close-printed  page.  No 
comfort  in  that;  but  a  curly  waif  of  steam 
from  the  simmering  soup-pot  strayed  his 
way,  and  he  took  it  in  with  a  deep  draught. 

"  Mehlsupp'  mil  Spitzgerl  (flour-soup 
with  mushrooms),"  announced  his  well- 
trained  nose. 

"  Ha ! "  rejoiced  his  empty  stomach. 
And  Shimmele's  voice  rose  high  in  praise. 


48 


HOW  SHIMMELE  BECAME  A 
SCEPTIC— 


%,*. 


Ill 

HOW  SHIMMELE  BECAME  A 
SCEPTIC- 

There  are  many  joyous  festivals  and 
holy  days  in  the  Gass,  and  if  you  ask  the 
children  there  which  one  is  best,  you  will 
be  deafened  by  conflicting  cries: 

"Peerim!"  "Nay,  Peisuch!"  "Nay, 
Siccus!—" 

Let  them  shout.  We  ask  Shimmele 
only,  and  he  promptly  pronounces  for 
Passover,  that  long,  happy  holiday,  com 
bining  in  one  all  the  joys  that  can  be 
dreamed  of.  The  Feast  of  Tabernacles  is 
a  close  second,  with  the  building  of  the 
booth,  the  gathering  of  greens,  and  the 
gilding  of  nuts;  but  Moses  the  Lawgiver 
did  not  reckon,  alas,  with  place  and  cli 
mate,  and  sometimes  as  you  sit  in  the  booth 
under  the  roof  of  boughs,  through  which 

51 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


the  stars  peep,  this  celebration  of  joy  is 
marred  by  the  early  frosts,  which  nip  un 
protected  extremities  and  freeze  every 
mouthful. 

The  Feast  of  Esther  with  its  maskers 
and  its  devil's  rattles  in  derision  of  the 
archenemy,  Haman,  is  pleasant,  boisterous, 
rollicking,  but  too  brief.  The  Feast  of  the 
Maccabees  also  has  its  charms,  with  its 
lights  and  presents,  but  there  is  the  great 
trial  of  school.  The  Rejoicing  of  the  Law 
is  a  dream,  with  flags  and  processions  and 
barley-sugar  pouring  like  rain  from  the 
women's  gallery  in  the  synagogue.  But 
take  it  all  in  all,  for  joy  unalloyed  give 
Shimmele  Passover. 

Its  beginning  for  him  lies  deep  in  the 
winter,  when  the  people  bake  their  Matzos 
(unleavened  bread),  all  this  baking  being 
done  in  Maryam's  house.  One  by  one,  as 
each  has  its  appointed  time,  the  families 
come,  bearing  stacks  of  wood  and  big 

bags  of  flour,  and  the  kneading  and  roll- 
52 


HOW    SHIMMELE    BECAME    A    SCEPTIC— 

ing  and  baking  begins.  Maryam  helps 
every  one,  and  if  you  happen  to  be  a  favor 
ite  grandchild,  this  develops  untold  de 
lights. 

You  can  flit  to  and  fro  among  the  work 
ers  unreproved;  you  can  steep  yourself  in 
the  delight  of  carrying  the  thin  cakes,  pen 
dant  over  a  little  stick,  to  the  oven,  in  do^ 
ing  which  you  must  run  wildly,  lest  in  the 
interval  between  bake-board  and  oven  the 
bread  rise  and  thus  become  leaven,  in  other 
words  chometz,  unfit. 

But  the  charm  lies  not  in  this,  nor  yet 
in  the  fragrance  of  the  baking  bread;  in 
deed,  these  are  common  matters  to  Shim- 
mele.  The  real  fascination  is  in  the  babel 
of  voices  and  the  many  people,  swarming 
as  at  a  market-place  in  this  usually  quiet 
house. 

Each  new  group  has  a  manner  of  its  Own, 
some  running  about  and  shrieking  like  mad 
during  the  process;  but  good-natured  ones 

let  you  help,  even  to  the  punching  of  little 
53 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


holes  with  a  Rddlech  (little  rolling  cog 
wheel)  into  the  unbaked  cakes. 

Everyone  who  is  not  employed  runs  in 
to  have  a  look;  even  the  Bochurim  (Talmud 
students),  enticed  by  the  sounds  of  light- 
hearted  laughter,  which  flows  like  crystal 
rills  out  of  Maryam's  crooked  windows, 
find  sudden  business  to  take  them  past  the 
house.  The  staid  ones  glance  in  bashfully; 
the  fat  one  with  the  jolly  eyes  puts  his 
head  boldly  in. 

"  What  dost  want,  Bochurf  "  cries  Mar- 
yam,  with  twinkling  eyes.  "  Hast  already 
the  whole  Gemorah  in  thy  head  that  thou 
hast  time  to  go  a-walking?  " 

But  the  Bochur  only  laughs  and  beckons 
Shimmele  slyly  to  him.  "  Say  to  Vogele 
(or  Blumele  or  Taubele  as  the  case  may 
be,  for  although  it  was  always  the  same 
Bochur,  the  maidens  changed  from  year  to 
year),  "say  to  her:  'As  the  lily  among 
thorns  so  is  my  love  among  the  daugh- 


HOW    SHIMMELE    BECAME    A    SCEPTIC— 

Then  Shimmele  elbows  his  way  to  a 
conscious  looking  maiden,  her  white  arms 
deep  in  the  kneading  trough. 

"As  the  lily  among  thorns  so  is  my  love 
among  the  daughters,"  gurgles  Shimmele. 

"  Hold  thy  tongue,  Shegeteel*  titters 
the  maiden. 

"  Can  I  help  it?  The  jolly  Bochur  said 
it." 

Shimmele  dodges  a  slap,  and  goes  to 
report  results.  He  despises  the  whole 
business,  message  and  motive,  but  there 
is  a  reward,  depending  upon  results,  and 
ranging  from  bits  of  sweet-wood  up  to  the 
vanishing  heights  of  small  coin. 

"  What  did  she  say?"  whispers  the 
Bochur. 

"  Nothing." 

"  Nothing !  "     O  melancholy ! 

"  But  her  face  glowed  red  filce  the  rose 
of  Sharon,"  says  the  sly  Shimmele. 

"  Ha,  ha,  impudent  face,  what  knowest 
thou  about  the  rose  of  Sharon?  " 

55 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


Reward,  one  penny 

Then,  when  the  Matzos  are  all  baked, 
comes  the  seeding  and  chopping  of  raisins 
for  wine;  and  when  the  wine  is  gently 
steeping  in  jugs,  Eisak  Schulklopfer  brings 
a  great  loaf  of  sugar  bearing  the  rabbi's 
seal,  which  certifies  that  it  is  Pesachdik* 
in  other  words,  immaculate.  Then  you 
pound  sugar  in  a  mortar  for  hours  at  a 
time,  or  grate  almonds,  cheerfully  sacrifi 
cing  bits  of  cuticle  off  your  finger  ends  to 
the  holy  cause;  while  through  it  all  per 
vades  an  exciting  sense  of  hazard,  lest  one 
should,  God  forbid,  lay  a  Yontovdik 1  edible 
on  a  chometzig*  spot. 

And  when  all  is  done,  up  drives  Maier, 
the  hired  man,  and  into  the  wagon  you 
pile  a  great  stack  of  snowy  Matzos,  with 
crisp  brown  edges,  and  bottles  of  raisin 
wine,  and  a  jar  of  cakes,  then  mount  and 
away  you  go,  homeward  to  the  farm. 

1  Proper  for  the  festival. 
9  Leaven,  hence  forbidden. 
56 


HOW    SHIMMELE    BECAME    A    SCEPTIC— 

What  matter  that  it  is  bleak  and  cold. 
Babe  Maryam  has  wrapped  you  well  in  a 
shawl;  there  is  a  hot  brick  at  your  feet,  and 
Maier  lets  you  hold  the  reins  while  you 
spin  down  the  hard,  dry  road  that  lies 
straight  on  the  earth,  like  an  immense  pea- 
stick,  its  pointed  end  at  the  horizon,  stick 
ing  into  the  sky. 

Then,  what  new  joys  at  home!  The 
house  has  been  cleansed  from  top  to  bot 
tom;  there  is  not  a  crack  or  corner  that 
has  not  been  scoured  and  polished  and 
purified  for  the  festival.  Nevertheless,  it  is 
father's  duty  to  seek  out  and  gather  up  the 
last  crumbs  of  leaven,  which  may  have  been 
overlooked.  For  this  end,  he  peers  with 
the  aid  of  a  lighted  candle  into  all  the  cor 
ners  and  cupboards,  and  that  his  search 
may  not  be  in  vain,  mother  has  laid  little 
heaps  of  bread  crumbs,  as  much  as  a  thim 
bleful,  on  convenient  shelves. 

You  follow  father  in  his  quest;  you  know 
where  the  crumbs  are;  you  tremble  lest  he 

57 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


does  not;  you  shriek  when  he  finds  them. 
Then  he  sweeps  them  with  a  feather  into  a 
little  dish,  and  you  bear  them  off  in 
triumph. 

And  the  next  day  holds  still  more  de 
lights.  You  may  not  eat  bread,  for  that  is 
chometz  (leaven);  you  may  not  eat  Matzos, 
for  the  festival  does  not  begin  until  even 
ing,  but  mother  cooks  a  great  dish  of  nice 
potato-dumplings,  and  you  swallow  the  last 
bite  without  regret,  for  there  is  better  to 
follow. 

Out  in  the  yard  the  children  have  built  a 
fire  in  a  pit,  and  into  this  you  cast  the 
leaven  which  father  has  gathered  that  it  be 
utterly  destroyed,  then  yours  is  trie  privi 
lege  of  leaping  back  and  forth  over  the 
flames;  a  delightful  diversion  this,  contain 
ing  the  usually  forbidden  hazard  of  scorch 
ing  your  legs. 

Then,  when  the  early  twilight  has  blotted 
out  the  day,  back  into  the  house  you  go, 
where  all  is  so  fine  and  festive;  where  lying 

58 


HOW    SHIMMELE    BECAME    A    SCEPTIC— 

upon  the  table,  ready  for  the  Seder,  is 
mother's  best  table-cloth,  smelling  spicy  of 
cloves  and  lemon-peel,  and  gleaming  upon 
it  the  family  treasure  of  silver,  two  candle 
sticks  and  a  cup,  swathed  all  the  year 
round  in  flannel,  which  you  may  admire 
but  on  this  yearly  occasion.  And  over  all, 
aye,  in  the  very  air,  there  breathes  a  spirit 
of  sanctity,  an  indescribable,  joyful  holi 
ness.  It  twinkles  in  the  lights  and  whispers 
on  the  hearth;  it  echoes  in  the  voices  and 
shines  upon  the  faces;  it  thrills  within  the 
heart  like  a  joyous  song,  like  the  first 
breath  of  spring  after  a  long,  hard  winter. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  farm  on  this, 
the  fifth  Passover  of  Shimmele's  life,  Reb 
Shlome  greeted  them  with  a  peculiarly 
happy  smile. 

'  Think,   the   pleasure,"   he   cried,    "  we 
have  a  Cohen  as  guest." 

Shimmele  had  learned  that  a  Cohen  is 
a  descendant  of  the  high  priests  who  minis- 

59 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


tered  in  the  holy  Temple  at  Jerusalem,  a 
person  of  rare  honors  and  privileges,  but 
as  yet  he  had  never  clapped  eyes  on  one; 
for  though  he  had  a  dim  knowledge  that 
there  were  Cohanim  in  the  Gass,  he  had 
never  made  acquaintance  with  them  in 
their  priestly  capacity.  He  ached  to  see 
one,  knowing  that  a  priest  is  fine  to  look 
at;  for  he  had  once  seen  a  Catholic  one,  a 
gorgeous  creature  all  satin  and  gold,  in 
a  procession  on  Corpus  Christi. 

Disentangling  himself  from  the  family 
embrace,  he  dashed  into  the  house  and  was 
through  it  on  a  run. 

"  Where  have  you  got  him?"  he  de 
manded. 

"  Sh — sh—  '  warned  the  family,  tiptoe 
ing  at  the  door. 

Shimmele  looked  in  amazement.  There, 
by  the  stove,  in  his  father's  arm-chair, 
sound  asleep  and  snoring,  sprawled  the  in 
evitable  Schnorrer  (beggar),  in  this  case 
perhaps  more  dirty  than  usual. 

60 


HOW    SHIMMELE    BECAME    A    SCEPTIC— 

"  That ! "  cried  Shimmele  in  disgust, 
"  that  you  call  a  priest !  " 

"  Narrcle  (little  fool),"  said  Reb  Shlome, 
and  smiled  again,  an  exalted,  indescribable 
smile — one  would  have  to  know  the  history 
of  his  people  to  understand  it. 

Behold  him,  ye  of  little  faith.  Behold 
Reb  Shlome,  gazing  with  joyful  reverence 
at  his  beggar-guest !  His  face  reflects  it 
all,  the  glory,  the  martyrdom,  the  faith,  the 
hope  of  his  people;  aye,  verily,  the  hope, 
and  Reb  Shlome  is  happy. 

"  He  is  a  dirty  beggar,"  you  argue. 

"  He  is  of  the  house  of  Aaron,"  and  Reb 
Shlome's  heart  thrills  proudly  as  he  speaks. 

"  He  is  a  parasite,  a  miscreant." 

"  He  will  be  redeemed,  and  his  seed  shall 
minister  again  in  the  holy  Temple  at  Jeru 
salem,  as  the  Lord  has  promised." 

But  Shimmele  has  neither  faith  nor 
hope.  He  fairly  wriggles  with  questions 
which  struggle  out  of  him,  and  pesters 
everyone  who  will  listen. 

61 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


"  But,  Babele,  when  will  the  Temple  in 
Jerusalem  be  rebuilt?" 

"  When  the  Messiah  comes." 

"When  will  the  Messiah  come?" 

"Don't  talk  Shtuss  (nonsense),  child!" 

"  But  when  will  he,  Babele?  " 

Maryam  laughs  and  cries,  "  Not  so  long 
as  little  boys  ask  foolish  questions,"  then 
hurries  off  with  an  armful  of  Matzos. 

Shimmele  unappeased  goes  to  find  a  so 
lution  in  the  man  himself,  at  whom  he 
gazes  with  disgust;  but  soon  he  finds  him 
self  fascinated,  for  he  has  a  game  on. 
Shimmele  having  no  toys  had  to  invent  his 
own  games;  they  were  hardly  games,  they 
were  so  staid.  But  the  one  he  is  at  now  is 
fine.  It  is  trying  to  count  the  clean  spots 
on  the  beggar,  but  whenever  he  thinks  he 
has  found  one,  a  second  look  discloses  a 
smudge.  The  game  has  its  uses,  too,  for 
unto  him,  the  doubter  in  the  Cohen's  priest 
hood,  comes  the  verification  of  another 
point  in  doctrine. 

62 


HOW    SHIMMELE    BECAME    A    SCEPTIC— 

"  Now  I  believe  it,  what  is  written,"  he 
muses,  "  that  man  is  a  thing  of  dust.  This 
one  is  so  full,  it  leaks  out  through  his  skin." 

Reb  Shlome  had  scoured  the  neighbor 
hood  in  search  of  a  Minyan  (religious  quoT 
rum)  that  he  might  hold  services  next  day, 
and  the  promise  of  a  Cohen  for  the  blessing, 
\Vhich  is  a  rare  and  great  privilege,  brought 
out  ten  men  strong. 

The  children  received  many  admonitions 
and  directions  regarding  devout  attention 
and  behavior  during  the  service,  prominent 
among  them  the  warning  to  bow  the  head 
and  keep  the  eyes  closed  or  bent  on  the 
ground  when  the  Cohen  pronounces  the 
blessing;  "  for  then,"  explained  Reb 
Shlome,  anticipating  Shimmele's  ques 
tions,  "  the  Shechinah  (Spirit  of  God)  de 
scends  from  on  high  and  rests  upon  him." 

Shimmele  ached  to  ask :  "  How  does  the 
Shechinah  look?  Has  it  wings  or  hands  or 
feet?  Will  it  come  through  the  chimney 

or  the  roof? "      But  a  look  on  the  face 
63 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


of  his  father,  this  man  of  simple  faith, 
warned  him  that  it  was  not  wise.  Inwardly 
he  determined  to  have  a  look  and  find  out. 

At  service  he  examined  the  surround 
ings,  and  found  that  the  praying  Cohen 
would  stand  directly  under  his  mother's 
cheese-board,  upon  which  reposed  a  dish 
of  little  holiday  cheeses,  mildly  toasting 
there  in  the  wTarmth  of  the  stove. 

He  decided  that  if  the  Spirit  of  God 
wished  to  get  at  the  Cohen,  it  would  have 
to  hover  about  the  cheese-board,  and  it 
was  upon  this  he  determined  to  have  an 
eye. 

The  moment  arrived  when,  all  heads 
bowed,  the  CoJien  began  to  chant  the  bless 
ing.  Shimmele's  head,  too,  was  bowed, 
but  a  mighty  power,  called  Inquisitiveness, 
dragged  his  eyelids  upward. 

Of  the  Cohen  nothing  was  visible,  for  he 
was  wrapped  wholly  in  his  Tallis  (praying 
shawl);  but  hovering  about  the  cheese- 
board  was — O  wonder! — a  strangely  start- 

64 


HOW    SHIMMELE    BECAME    A    SCEPTIC— 

ling  thing.  What  was  it?  What  could  it 
be?  It  must  be  the  Shechinah! 

It  had  neither  wings  nor  feet,  only 
hands,  in  fact,  was  nothing  but  hands;  a 
large,  dirty,  hairy  pair,  their  deft  fingers 
quickly  grasping  one — two — three  of  his 
mother's  little  cheeses. 

Shimmele  tried  hard  to  be  calm.  The 
Shechinah  is  the  Shechinah,  a  holy  thing. 
That's  all  very  well,  but  his  mother's  nice 
holiday  cheeses — "  Ai,  zvai! "  and  indigna 
tion  got  the  upper  hand. 

"  Tate  "  (father),  he  burst  forth  in  a  shrill 
whisper" look — look — DC  Shechinah  ganefed 
de  Kdslech! "  (The  Spirit  of  God  is  steal 
ing  the  cheeses.) 

The  expected  panic  did  not  ensue.  For 
reply  he  only  felt  a  large  hand  clapped 
quickly  over  his  mouth.  But  Shimmele 
thought  his  own  thoughts.  He  began  to 
doubt  from  that  day. 


65 


IV 
AND   A  SCOFFER 


IV 

AND  A  SCOFFER 

In  the  long  calendar  of  feast  and  fast  and 
holy  days  in  the  Gass,  there  are  some 
whose  waking  hours  are  too  brief  to  hold 
their  elaborate  devotional  program,  and 
which  must  be  pieced  out  with  the  night. 
Of  such  are  the  Selichoth  days,1  those  sol 
emn  days  of  penitence  and  prayer,  when 
Maryam  awakened  Shimmele  at  two 
o'clock  of  night,  and  made  him  ready  for 
the  synagogue. 

The  autumn  nights  were  cold  and  bleak, 
but  Maryam  was  a  careful  woman.  She 
wrapped  her  long  woolen  shawl  about  him; 
first  over  his  head,  like  a  fish-wife's  ker 
chief;  then  round  his  neck,  like  a  haughty 
man's  cravat;  forward  and  crossed  upon 
his  breast,  like  an  admiral's  scarf;  back 

1  Before  and  between  New  Year  and  Atonement. 
69 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


again  and  tied  in  a  knot  with  dangling 
ends,  like  a  young  lady's  sash. 

The  street  was  dark  and  silent,  the  stars 
glittered  coldly  in  the  black  sky,  and  the 
dead  leaves  rustled  on  the  dry,  naked 
stones  as  he  set  out  for  the  synagogue. 
But  Shimmele  knew  no  fear.  He  grasped 
his  thick  prayer-book  well  under  his  arm, 
set  his  chubby  legs  sturdily  forward,  and 
hurried  on  to  his  penitential  devotions. 

The  Schulklopfer,*  in  firm  reliance  upon 
Maryam's  punctual  piety,  slept  peacefully 
until  Shimmele  knocked  at  his  door. 

"  Is  that  thou,  Shimmele?  "  he  grumbled 
from  his  bed.  "  Muhme  Maryam  must 
have  been  dreaming,  it's  too  early  for 
Schul." 

"  It's  going  on  three,"  piped  Shimmele 
through  the  key-hole. 

Eisak  Schulklopfer  then  gave  him  a  large 

5  Literally,   synagogue  knocker ;    a  sort  of  under- 
sexton,  one  of  whose  duties  is  to  knock  at  the  house- 
doors  as  a  summons  to  prayers. 
70 


AND  A   SCOFFER 


iron  key,  saying,  "  Well,  go  open  the 
Schul.  I'll  be  there  soon,  and  don't  forget 
to  knock! " 

Shimmele  knocked  three  times  at  the 
door  of  the  synagogue,  turned  the  key  in 
the  creaking  lock,  and  walked  into  the 
dark,  icy  interior.  He  felt  along  the  wall 
until  he  found  the  little  cupboard  where 
a  candle  and  the  matches  were  kept;  then 
he  struck  a  light,  blew  on  his  numb  fingers 
to  warm  them,  and  waited.  Eisak  Schul- 
klopfer's  high,  quavering  voice  calling  the 
men  to  prayers  grew  fainter  and  fainter; 
soon  he  had  reached  the  last  house,  and 
dim  figures  with  Tallis3-bags  and  prayer- 
books  under  their  arms  came  hurrying 
down  the  street. 

There  was  Yossel  Kummer,  whose 
daughter,  the  once  beautiful  Yittl,  was 
growing  old  and  hard,  and  was  embittering 
her  parents'  old  age  with  her  laments. 

3  Praying  shawls. 

71 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


Her  sorrow  was  this,  that  for  twelve  years 
she  had  been  betrothed  to  the  man  of  her 
love,  but  he  could  not  gain  permission  from 
the  government  to  marry;  for  there  was  a 
price  on  Jewish  progeny.  One  hundred 
families  was  the  limit  allowed  to  the  dis 
trict;  matrimony  beyond  that,  if  procurable 
at  all,  could  be  purchased  only  at  regal 
cost;  and  Moshe  and  Yittl  were  poor. 

There  was  Anshel  Dorfgeher,  who  sold 
ribbons  and  calicoes  to  the  farmers'  wives, 
earning  his  bread  in  fear  and  trembling,  for 
the  business,  which  was  an  inheritance,  had 
become  a  forbidden  one,  since  the  govern 
ment  discovered  that  the  peddling  of  such 
commodities  retarded  civilization. 

There  was  Dovid  Abeles,  whose  son  was 
giving  ten  years'  service  in  the  army, 
where  he  might  sacrifice  his  youth  and 
strength,  his  blood  and  his  life,  but  where 
he  might  not  rise  higher  than  a  corporal. 

They  were  for  the  most  part  poor  and 
struggling,  bent  with  care  and  labor, 

72 


AND  A   SCOFFER 


stamped  with  the  indelible  mark  of  help 
less,  patient  suffering;  yet  they  left  their 
beds  at  dead  of  night,  and  hurried  to  the 
synagogue  to  weep  penitently  over  their 
sins  and  thank  the  Lord  God  of  Israel  for 
His  boundless  mercies. 

Shimmele  was  the  only  little  child 
among  them,  and  for  two  hours  he  stood 
and  prayed  with  the  men,  and  tried  to  weep 
as  they  did. 

One  morning,  after  Selichoth  service, 
Shimmele  seemed  strangely  absent.  Mar- 
yam's  running  commentary  was  forcefully 
interesting  as  usual,  but  in  the  midst  of  a 
descriptive  bit  he  broke  in  with :  "  Babele, 
why  must  one  knock  at  the  Schul  before 
one  enters?  " 

Maryam  stopped  short,  looked  at  the 
child  in  amazement,  and  cried :  "  '  I  have 
been  young,  and  now  am  old,'  as  it  is  writ 
ten,  but  'tis  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  have 
heard  anyone  ask  that  question." 

"  But  why  must  one?  "  cried  Shimmele. 

73 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


"  Dost  know,  Shimmele,  it  is  not  at  all 
right  to  ask  such  questions.  If  everyone 
does  it,  and  all  who  have  gone  before  have 
also  done  it,  needst  thou  ask  why?  " 

"But  why,  Babele?"  persisted  Shim 
mele. 

Maryam  smiled. 

"  Nu,  I'll  tell  thee.  They  say  the  spirits 
of  the  dead  go  to  Schid  at  night  to  pray, 
and  one  must  warn  them  of  one's  ap 
proach." 

Shimmele  reflected. 

"  Then  dare  we  not  look  upon  the  spirits 
of  the  dead?" 

Maryam  stared. 

"What  ails  the  Yungel  to  talk  such 
Shtuss  (nonsense) !  " 

"  I  should  much  like  to  see  a  spirit  of  the 
dead,"  pursued  Shimmele  musingly. 

Maryam  began  to  laugh  softly. 

"  Narrele  (little  fool),"  she  cried,  "hast 
thou  no  fear?  Dost  know  what  they  say? 
They  say  that  one  who  looks  upon  such  a 

74 


AND  A   SCOFFER 


spirit  is  struck  dumb;  if  he  looks  again,  he 
is  struck  blind;  but  should  he  look  a  third 
time,  he  falls  dead  on  the  spot." 

For  all  the  "  clear  head  "  of  the  won 
der-child  the  joke  did  not  penetrate. 
Maryam  chuckled,  but  Shimmele  pondered 
gravely. 

"  Babele,"  he  said  presently,  "  hast  ever 
seen  one  who  looked  upon  a  spirit?" 

Here  Maryam  broke  into  a  merry 
laugh. 

"  No,  Shimmele,  my  gold,  him  I  have  not 
yet  seen ! " 

The  next  night,  when  Shimmele  went  as 
usual  to  the  Selichoth  prayers,  he  carried, 
beside  his  prayer-book,  a  short  end  of  can 
dle,  some  matches,  and  a  well-oiled  goose 
quill.  After  he  had  performed  his  office  of 
religious  alarm-clock,  taken  the  synagogue 
key  with  the  accompanying  warning,  and 
seen  the  sexton's  door  close  upon  him,  he 
suddenly  ran  to  the  key-hole  and  squeaked 
into  it : 

75 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


"  Eisak  Schulklopfer,  what  would  happen 
if  I  did  not  knock?" 

With  a  jerk  the  door  flung  suddenly 
back,  and  Shimmele  fell  forward  into  the 
room. 

" Bistu  meshugge  (art  mad)?"  screamed 
Eisak.  "  Art  a  Jewish  Yiingel  that  talks 
like  an  Epikaurus  (infidel)?" 

"  Reb  Eisak  Leben,  tell  me,  what  would 
happen?" 

"  Shah — She  get  z !  Thou  hast  but  to  try 
it,  and  thou  wouldst  soon  find  out!  But 
this  I  tell  thee :  there  was  once  one  who  did 
it,  and  when  they  found  him,  he  was  dead 
with  ghostly  finger  marks  on  his  throat. 
Now  go  and  remember  that." 

Shimmele's  eyes  grew  round. 

"  Didst  see  the  finger  marks? "  he 
gasped,  but  the  door  slammed  in  his  face, 

It  was  a  dark,  windy  night,  and  there 
Avere  dry  rustlings  and  soft  thumpings  in 
the  air.  The  synagogue  looked  black  and 
dismal,  and  there  came  low  whisperings 

76 


AND  A  SCOFFER 


through  the  door.  Something  tapped 
ghostily  at  the  window  as  if  bidding  him 
enter. 

Shimmele  stood  still  with  high  beating 
heart. 

"  I  should  just  love  to  see  a  spirit  of  the 
dead,"  he  thought. 

He  tried  to  peep  through  the  key-hole, 
but  his  vision  halted  at  a  wall  of  dense 
blackness.  He  put  his  ear  to  a  crack;  a 
cold  draught  blew  into  it. 

"  Eisak  said  the  man  was  dead.  He  was 
a  fool;  he  looked  three  times,"  said  Shim- 
mele's  logic. 

"  I'll  give  just  one  little  Keek  and  run," 
coaxed  his  curiosity. 

"  Then— then  I'll  be  struck  dumb,"  con 
cluded  his  logic. 

"  Then — then  I  won't  have  to  say  any 
more  prayers,"  rejoiced  Shimmele. 

He  lit  his  bit  of  candle  in  a  still  corner, 
oiled  the  rusty  key,  lest  it  creak  and  the 
spirits  flee,  then  softly  turned  the  lock. 

77 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


The  door  flew  back.  With  one  bound 
Shimmele  burst  into  the  room. 

Puff! — out  went  the  candle. 

Bang! — shut  flew  the  door. 

He  stood  still  and  held  his  breath. 
Something  inside  of  him  beat  like  a  ham 
mer.  All  else  was  still  save  for  a  low  moan 
ing.  He  strained  his  eyes,  but  they  seemed 
as  if  enclosed  in  a  wall  of  frightful  black 
ness.  He  walked  a  step;  his  boots  squeaked 
terribly.  Something  inside  him  puffed 
like  the  blacksmith's  bellows.  He  would 
have  liked  to  scream,  but  his  throat  seemed 
tied  up  as  with  a  cord. 

"  I'm  struck  dumb,  O  wai! "  he  thought. 

A  gust  of  wind  shook  the  windows;  the 
moaning  came  from  all  sides  at  once. 
Shimmele  strained  his  eyes  with  terror,  but 
no  ray  pierced  the  darkness. 

"  I  must  have  keeked  twice, — wai,  O 
wai, — I'm  struck  blind !  " 

"  I'll  light  my  candle  and  make  sure," 
said  his  calmer  second  thought. 

78 


AND  A   SCOFFER 


The  candle  had  fallen  to  the  floor,  and 
he  got  down  on  his  knees  to  find  it. 

Now,  the  corner  of  a  bench  is  hard,  and 
Shimmele's  head  was  tender,  and  when 
these  two  met  with  a  vigorous  thump, 
Shimmele  roared :  "  Oi !  "  Thus  was  the 
spell  broken.  His  heart  leaped  joyfully. 

"Aha,  so  I'm  not  dumb !  " 

Just  then  the  light  of  the  Shammas'  lan 
tern  fell  through  the  window. 

"  Hooray !    I'm  not  blind !  " 

Then  Shimmele  smiled  loftily,  and  a  bit 
of  scorn  looked  out  of  every  one  of  his  dim 
ples. 

That  morning  at  breakfast,  while  dip 
ping  his  hot  soup  and  bread,  he  startled 
his  grandmother  by  asking: 

"  Who  told  thee  about  the  spirits  of  the 
dead  in  Schulf  " 

"  Wai  geschrieen! "  cried  Maryam,  "  the 
Yiingel  is  utterly  mad  with  his  spirits  of 
the  dead !  " 

"But  who  told  thee?" 

79 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


"  Be  still  now,  Shimmele;  it  is  not  at  all 
well  for  a  child  to  talk  thus." 

"  But,  please,  Babele,  who  told  thee?  " 

u  Who  should  have  told  me?  Everyone 
knows  that." 

"  Then  who  told  everyone?  " 

Maryam  sighed. 

"  It  would  take  a  great  Chocham 
(scholar)  to  answer  all  thy  questions." 

"  Was  it  perhaps  the  Rav  (rabbi)  ?  " 

"  It  might  have  been  the  Rav.'1 

"  And  who  told  the  Rav?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Maryam  meekly. 

"  Was  it  perhaps  the  High  Rebbe 
Loew?" 

"  No  doubt  it  was  he." 

"Then,"  said  Shimmele  quietly,  "the 
High  Rebbe  Loew  was  a  liar." 

"Shema!"  shrieked  Maryam,  dropping 
her  rolling-pin,  which  in  its  descent 
dragged  with  it  a  large  sheet  of  crisp,  yel 
low  noodle-dough;  but  in  the  face  of  such 
blasphemy,  noodles  had  suddenly  retired  to 


80 


AND  A   SCOFFER 


the  dim  background  of  trivialities,  and 
Maryam  waited  in  horror  for  the  roof  to 
fall. 

But  the  roof  sat  firm,  and  Shimmele 
opened  his  mouth,  and  put  more  soup  into 
it. 

"  There  are  no  spirits  of  the  dead  in 
Schul"  he  said  next. 

Maryam  was  slowly  returning  to  life. 
After  she  had  recovered  her  breath  she 
cried : 

"  How  knowest  thou  that?  " 

"  I  did  not  knock,"  said  Shimmele  as 
quietly  as  before,  and  waited  with  spoon 
poised  in  air  for  another  shriek.  But  the 
unexpected  happened.  A  smile  rippled 
over  Maryam's  soft  cheeks,  up  to  the  shores 
of  her  clear,  gray  eyes,  where  it  broke  into  a 
twinkle.  Then  she  laughed  softly  to  her 
self,  and  shook  her  head  with  wonder. 

"A  miracle !  "  she  gloried  in  her  heart. 
"A  wonder  from  God!  Such  a  child  the 

world  has  not  yet  seen,"  but  to  Shimmele 
81. 


IDYLS   OF  THE  GASS 


she  said  solemnly,  laying  her  hand  upon 
his  head : 

"  Shimmele,  my  life,  the  Lord  in  His 
seventh  heaven  has  given  thee  a  head  of 
iron.  Thou  wilt  some  day  be  chief-rabbi; 
I,  thy  grandmother,  have  said  it !  " 

And  the  next  day  she  said: 

"  Shimmele,  tlwu  knowest  it,  and  7  know 
it,  and  it  is  well," — then  with  a  tolerant 
shrug  and  a  nod  inclusive  of  the  whole 
Gass,  "  but  why  need  they  know  it?  " 

Shimmele  understood;  he  kept  his  se 
cret.  From  that  day  he  was  man  in  the 
house,  Maryam's  helper  and  confidant. 


SHIMMELE  CHOOSES 
A  PROFESSION 


SHIMMELE   CHOOSES   A   PROFES 
SION 

"  There  was  once  an  Unfortunate  Crea 
ture  who  displeased  his  Fellow  Beings. 
Unwittingly  he  displeased  them,  yet  they 
threw  him  into  prison;  bound  hand  and 
foot  they  caged  him  behind  iron  bars,  and 
left  him  there  to  rot. 

"And  after  many  years  there  arose  Right 
eous  Men  who  broke  the  bonds  of  this  Un 
fortunate  Creature,  and  flung  wide  his  pris 
on  gates.  And  the  Unfortunate  Creature 
crawled  forth  into  the  light  of  day,  gazed 
with  dim,  blear  eyes  upon  a  strange  world, 
but  departed  not  from  thence. 

"  When  his  Fellow  Beings  saw  him 
there,  they  burned  with  lofty  scorn. 

"  '  Depart ! '  they  cried.     '  Why  dost  thou 
linger  now  thou  art  free ! ' 

85 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


'  Woe  is  me ! '  cried  the  Unfortunate 
Creature.  'Whither  shall  I  go?  There  is 
no  place  to  lay  my  head;  this  prison  is  my 
only  home ' ;  and  at  the  prison  gates  sank 
helpless  to  the  ground. 

"And  when  his  Fellow  Beings  saw  him 
there,  they  spat  at  him  and  reviled  him. 

"  'Arise,  thou  vile  one,'  they  cried. 
'  Leap,  dance,  thou  grovelest  like  a  beast, 
and  yet  art  free ! ' 

"  The  Unfortunate  Creature  raised  his 
trembling  voice  and  cried : 

"  '  How  can  I  leap  when  my  limbs  are 
maimed?  How  can  I  dance  when  the 
wounds  from  my  bonds  still  bleed?'  But 
his  voice,  too,  had  grown  feeble  in  his 
prison;  his  Fellow  Beings  passed  and  heard 
him  not. 

"  'A  vile  thing,'  they  said,  and  they 
lifted  aside  their  garments  and  despised 
him." 

A  true  tale  this  and  a  woeful  one,  and 
the  name  of  the  Unfortunate  Creature  is 

86 


SHIMMELE   CHOOSES   A   PROFESSION 

Israel,  and  his  Fellow  Beings  are  named 
the  Christian  Nations. 

For  twenty  times  one  hundred  years  has 
Israel  languished  in  bondage.  Yet  the 
world  reviles  it  because  it  still  bears  the 
taint  of  its  prison,  the  wounds  of  its  fetters. 

For  twenty  times  one  hundred  years  was 
Israel  driven  out  of  every  Christian  country 
on  earth.  However,  they  despise  it,  be 
cause  it  still  cringes  in  trembling. 

For  twenty  times  one  hundred  years  Is 
rael  was  barred  out  of  every  honorable 
trade  and  calling.  O,  have  they  the  heart 
to  scorn  it  because  it  bargains  with  shriek 
ing  voice  for  a  hare-skin?  Not  a  foot  of 
ground  was  Israel  allowed  to  call  its  own, 
and  yet  they  reproach  it  because  it  does  not 
till  the  soil. 

The  right  to  eat  and  drink,  the  right  to 
pray  to  God,  the  right  to  learn,  the  right 
to  marry  and  bear  children,  aye,  the  very 
right  to  live,  to  breathe,  Israel  had  to  pur 
chase  with  gold  through  the  weary  centu- 

87 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


ries.  Condemn  it  who  dare  because  it  loves 
money ! 

In  the  days  of  Shimmele's  childhood, 
when  a  boy  of  the  Gass  was  approaching 
his  thirteenth  year,  you  would  often  see  his 
parents'  faces  lined  with  care,  and  "  'tis 
time  he  were  put  to  business,"  you  would 
hear  them  say.  And  the  world  has  hated 
them  for  this. 

With  young  Christoph  it  was  different. 
He  stamped  his  foot,  flung  out  his  young 
strength  in  his  voice,  and  cried,  "  I  shall 
be  a  blacksmith  and  carpenter,"  or  perhaps 
"  a  magistrate,  a  professor."  But  what 
could  Moshe  do?  He  had  but  little  choice. 
If  he  showed  an  inclination  to  manual  la 
bor,  he  might,  by  good  fortune,  if  the 
places  were  not  already  overfilled,  patch 
old  clothes  for  the  Gass,  tinker  its  broken 
locks,  or  cobble  its  shoes.  If  his  ambition 
happened  to  run  higher,  say  to  the  glory  of 
bricklaying,  his  father  would  throw  out 
his  hands  and  cry  in  anger: 

88 


SHIMMELE   CHOOSES  A  PROFESSION 

"  Fool,  art  gone  mad?  Since  when  will 
they  apprentice  a  Jew  to  a  trade  or  craft?  " 

No,  a  boy  in  the  Gass  had  no  choice. 
With  a  heavy  pack  on  his  back,  living  on 
dry  bread,  he  tramped  through  the  coun 
try,  bargaining  with  peasants  for  a  little 
flax,  a  handful  of  bristles;  or  he  stood  in 
the  markets,  sweltering  or  freezing,  crying 
ever  his  small  wares. 

But  there  was  one  exception;  it  was 
when  the  boy  developed  a  "  good  head," 
then  "  learning  "  was  the  goal,  and  "  We 
have  no  meat?  Nu,  we  will  eat  bread.  We 
have  no  coat?  Nu,  we  will  freeze.  Our 
Yiingel  is  going  to  be  a  rabbi !  " 

If  his  ambition  happened  to  run  to  medi 
cine,  law,  or  science,  they  would  joyfully 
mortgage  the  beds  upon  which  they  slept, 
and  wring  their  hands  in  their  pride,  for  too 
often,  alas,  the  price  of  advancement  in  the 
professions  was  apostasy. 

Maryam  was  descended  from  a  line  of 
rabbis;  men  of  piety  and  uprightness,  who 

89 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


with  love  and  joy,  through  prosperity  and 
adversity,  had  "  followed  the  Law,"  and  it 
was  her  sore  grief  that  this  long  line  of 
learning  seemed  about  to  end.  Her  only 
brother,  through  a  perverse  fate,  had  taken 
to  commerce,  and  it  wras  upon  Maryam 
that  the  heritage  of  a  "  head  of  iron  "  had 
descended.  In  the  classes  of  her  father,  the 
rabbi,  she  had  studied  with  the  lads,  and 
when  she  was  still  a  young  maiden,  the 
people  had  said  of  her,  "  She  is  a  whole 
Maggid  (scholar,  preacher)." 

At  a  time  when  to  read  in  any  lan 
guage  save  the  holy  one  was  counted  al 
most  blasphemous  in  the  quiet  back- 
villages  of  Maryam's  native  land,  she  went 
about  with  a  German  book  labeled  Men 
delssohn — a  despised  name — tied  up  in  her 
apron. 

But  Maryam,  alas,  was  only  a  woman, 
and  her  learning  but  graced  her  as  a  sweet 
scent  graces  a  flower.  It  attracted  to  her 
the  young  Talmudist,  Chayim  Prager,  and 

90 


SHIMMELE   CHOOSES   A   PROFESSION 

in  marrying  him  she  in  a  measure  atoned 
for  the  fault  of  her  kindred. 

Yet  of  what  avail  is  learning  in  the  de 
vastation  of  war,  and  can  dialectics  buy 
bread?  Napoleon  came,  and  Chayim's 
little  patrimony  and  Maryam's  little  dowry 
scattered  to  the  four  winds  of  heaven,  like 
a  feeble  snow-drift  in  a  gale.  Chayim  had 
to  arise  from  his  thick  volumes  and  wander 
about  the  land  with  a  heavy  pack  of  flax  on 
his  back. 

Then  Maryam  laid  her  hope  in  her 
sons,  but  Yossef,  the  elder,  loved  his  thick, 
hide-bound  Talmud  volumes  only  inso 
much  as  he  could  make  trials  of  his 
strength  with  them.  He  preferred  to  work 
at  the  spinning-mill,  where  it  was  his  de 
light  to  pitch  and  toss  the  big  bales  of  raw 
flax. 

Shlome,  the  younger,  was  a  true  student, 
and  clung  to  his  book  until  his  mother  was 
widowed,  and  his  elder  brother  gone  blind. 
Maryam  had  then  to  earn  her  bread  by  the 

91 


IDYLS   OF  THE  GASS 


labor  of  her  hands,  yet  she  would  joyfully 
have  starved  to  keep  Shlome  at  his  studies; 
but  Shlome  scorned  such  dependence,  and 
went  to  the  city,  where  he  became  a 
private  tutor.  Then  Maryam  laid  her  hope 
in  her  grandchildren,  but  when  Shlome  hid 
his  gentle,  melancholy  nature  away  from 
the  stress  and  turmoil  of  cities,  in  the  quiet 
drudgery  of  the  farm — "  His  children  will 
grow  up  clods,  amid  rude,  ignorant  peas 
ants,  like  trees  in  the  forest,"  Maryam  said, 
and  hoped  no  more. 

Now  Maryam  deeply  lamented  that  the 
great  gift  of  knowledge  had  wholly  de 
parted  from  her  house,  yet  the  Gass  still 
saw  and  admired  it  in  Maryam  herself. 
There  were  people  who  valued  her  word  as 
highly  as  they  did  the  rabbi's;  but  there 
were  others,  intrepid  souls,  who  in  reckless 
moments  dared  question  her  piety.  This 
was  because  Maryam's  clear  good  sense 
discerned  many  distinctions  between  reli 
gious  observances  based  upon  the  tradition 

92 


SHIMMELE   CHOOSES   A   PROFESSION 

of  the  Law  and  those  whose  tradition  was 
mere  superstition. 

The  former  she  fulfilled  punctiliously, 
though  sometimes  with  tolerant,  good-na 
tured  scorn,  as  when  at  the  Seder  a  certain 
form  is  repeated  with  slight  variation,  be 
cause,  as  tradition  has  it,  "  Thus  did  our 
ancestor,  the  great  Hillel."  Maryam  per 
formed  the  service  faithfully,  mumbling 
smilingly  the  while,  "  A  good  fortune  that 
the  great  Hillel  dicl  not  stand  on  his  head, 
else  should  we  all  now  have  to  stand  on  our 
heads."  The  forms  whose  origin  Maryam 
traced  to  mere  superstition,  she  utterly  ig 
nored,  save  when  she  feared  to  hurt  the 
feelings  of  the  Gass. 

It  was  known  of  Maryam  that  nothing 
could  so  move  her  as  the  pursuit  of  knowl 
edge. 

"  Come  along,  Maryam,"  cried  her 
neighbors,  "  see  what  Reb  Noach  has 
brought  his  wife  from  town.  Tis  a  new 
kind  of  chair  called  a  fool-tail  (fauteuil),  a 

93 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


grand  thing,  all  hair-cloth.  One  sits  on  it 
as  on  ice." 

But  Maryam  only  shrugged  her  shoul 
ders  and  mumbled : 

"  Nu,  Bliimele  may  make  Sabbath  with 
it— her  fool-tail !  " 

But,  "  Maryam,  hast  heard,  Reb  Maier's 
Yossele  is  going  to  give  a  Drosha  (Talmud 
lecture)  on  his  Bar  Mitzvah?"  l  and  she  is 
off,  horses  cannot  hold  her. 

From  a  fine  religious  performance  of 
this  kind  she  would  return  with  a  bitter 
sweet  joy  in  her  heart. 

"Why  has  God  allowed  the  Crown  of 
Learning  to  depart  from  my  house?  "  she 
would  complain.  And  then  came  Shim 
mele!  Shimmele,  the  sceptic  and  philo 
sopher;  Shimmele,  the  Bockurle;  Shimmele, 
the  independent,  who  defied  the  word  of 
tradition;  Shimmele,  the  intrepid,  who 
scorned  the  blankness  of  superstition. 

Ceremony  of  a  boy's  religious  majority  at  the  age 
of  thirteen,  equivalent  to  confirmation. 
94 


SHIMMELE   CHOOSES   A   PROFESSION 


The  Lord,  whose  Name  be  praised,  had 
not  forgotten  her;  there  would  again  be  a 
rabbi  in  the  family,  for,  from  the  moment 
she  heard  her  grandchild  chant  the 
grace  after  meals,  her  mind  was  made  up, 
and  she  had  a  sudden  vision  of  Shimmele's 
preaching  in  a  lofty  synagogue,  and  all  Is 
rael  running  at  top  speed  to  drink  in  wis 
dom. 

Maryam  planned  and  hoped,  and  the  vi 
sion  uplifted  her  in  her  hardest  trials. 

Shimmele  had  not  been  long  in  her 
house  before  she  thought  it  wise  to  discuss 
his  future  with  him. 

"  Hast  not  yet  thought  what  thou 
wouldst  be  when  thou  art  a  man?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  be  a  teacher,"  replied 
Shimmele  promptly. 

Maryam  beamed  proudly. 

"  Tis  a  fine  thing,  a  teacher,  but  there 
are  still  better." 

"  No,  teacher  is  the  best,"  assured  Shim 
mele.  "  Then  I'll  have  nothing  to  do  but 

95 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


walk  about  this  way,  with  a  stick  under  my 
arm  and  take  snuff — so." 

Maryam  smiled,  for  she  remembered 
that  Shimmele  had  still  to  be  bribed  with 
stewed  plums  to  "  follow  the  Law." 

Another  time  it  was :  "  Shimmele,  I'd 
like  it  well  if  thou  couldst  become  a 
rabbi." 

"A  rabbi!"  cried  Shimmele,  "no,  I'm 
going  to  be  a  baker." 

"  A  baker !  "  echoed  Maryam  blankly. 
Alas  and  alas,  the  prodigy ! 

'  Yes,  and  I'm  going  to  keep  a  Back- 
stub." 

She  looked  at  him  in  dismay. 

"  Then  I  can  eat  as  many  raisins  as  I 
like—  " 

And  then  she  laughed,  her  low,  bubbling 
laugh  which  came  quickly  and  lightly  as  a 
child's,  for  what  she  saw  was  only  a  little 
bit  of  a  boy  with  fat  legs. 

But  Shimmele's  ideals  varied  often,  hov 
ering  undecidedly  between  the  hopes  for  a 

96 


SHIMMELE   CHOOSES   A   PROFESSION 

bakery,  a  farm,  and  a  carter's  wagon.  Yet 
they  always  ended  the  same  way : 

"  Then  I  shall  do  all  the  work,  granny, 
clear,  and  thou  canst  sit  all  day  in  thy  big 
chair  by  the  window  with  thy  knitting,  and 
wear  thy  silk  apron  every  day  as  does 
Madam  Blumele." 

Then  Maryam's  face  would  grow  soft, 
for  she  gloried  in  this  early  evidence  of  the 
child's  "  true  Jewish  heart." 

Maryam  told  Shimmele  her  best  tales 
about  the  great  Rabbi  Akiba,  and  Ram- 
bam,  and  the  High  Rabbi  Loew  ben  Be- 
zalel,  to  awaken  in  him  a  spirit  of  emula 
tion,  but  Shimmele  liked  least  of  all  her 
plans  for  his  future  as  a  rabbi,  and  how  he 
became  converted  to  the  idea  I  shall  now 
relate. 

"  A  baker,  a  farmer,  a  carter !  "  cried 
Maryam  one  day  in  serious  tones.  "  It  is 
not  for  that  thou  hast  inherited  '  a  good 
head';  nor  because  the  Eternal,  praised  be 
He,  has  given  it  thee  needst  thou  bob  it 

97 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


about  like  a  cock.  It  is  written,  '  The  for 
ward  one  is  an  abomination  to  the  Lord.' 
Thou  shouldst  be  modest,  for  the  truly 
great  are  always  modest.  Shimmele,  my 
pearl,  thou  hast  it  in  thee  to  become,  God 
willing,  truly  great.  I  tell  thee,  if  thou  wilt 
only  be  diligent  and  faithful,  thou  canst 
one  day  have  the  greatest  honor  that  can 
come  to  a  man  on  this  earth.  How  wouldst 
like  to  be  chief-rabbi?" 

Shimmele  looked  thoughtful. 

"What  does  he  do,  the  chief-rabbi?" 
asked  the  sceptic. 

"What  does  he  do?  He  studies.  At 
early  morning  he  gets  up  and  '  learns  '  and 
'  learns/  and  if  one  were  to  pass  his  house 
at  twelve  o'clock  of  night,  one  could  still 
see  his  candle  burning  and  him  reading  in 
his  thick  books." 

"  Studies?  "  said  Shimmele  doubtfully. 

"  Tis  the  best  thing  that  a  man  can  do, 
for  as  it  is  written,  '  Learning  is  greater 
than  priesthood  and  kingship.' ' 


SHIMMELE   CHOOSES  A   PROFESSION 

"  And  what  else  does  he  do,  the  chief- 
rabbi?" 

"  What  else?  He  writes  learned  books, 
and  when  there  is  a  dispute  anywhere,  all 
the  great  rabbis  come  to  him  to  settle  it, 
and  what  he  says  is  as  if  it  came  from 
heaven." 

Shimmele's  head  bobbed  approvingly. 

"  And  he  preaches  to  the  people,"  pro 
ceeded  Maryam,  "  and  warns  them  of  their 
wicked  ways,  and  even  the  hardest  heart  is 
melted  and  uplifted,  for  the  strength  of  his 
speech  is  like  manna,  and  the  words  of  his 
lips  like  honey." 

Shimmele's  face  shone  with  great  content. 

"  And  more  than  all  the  other  people  he 
is  pious  and  fulfils  the  Law,"  continued 
Maryam  solemnly,  "  and  keeps  the  holi 
days  and  fasts.  Have  I  never  told  thee 
about  the  great  Rabbi  Yecheskel  Landau? 
— Heaven  grant  that  we  may  see  his  like 
again  in  these  wicked  days.  Would  thou 
couldst  be  like  him,  Shimmele !  " 

99 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


"And  what  did  he  do?" 

"  What  did  he  do?  "  cried  Maryam.  "  If 
I  were  to  begin  now  and  talk  for  a  week,  I 
could  not  tell  all  the  good,  the  pious  things 
he  did.  He  was  only  thirty  years  old  when 
the  whole  world  was  already  full  of  his 
fame,  and  he  was  made  chief-rabbi  of 
Prague.  As  there  are  wicked  people  all 
over,  there  were  some  there  who  envied 
him  his  greatness,  and  tried  to  confound 
him  with  deep  questions,  but  he  had  an 
answer  for  all  of  them.  Now  I  will  tell 
thee  a  Maisele  (story) — a  better  one  thou 
hast  never  heard — how  at  last  he  showed 
them  what  he  was,  and  how  they  then  left 
him  in  peace.  One  day  there  came  two 
men  to  him,  crying,  '  Help,  rabbi,  help.' 
'  Woe  is  me ! '  cried  the  one.  '  This  man  is  a 
thief;  he  has  stolen  all  I  have  in  the  world, 
and  my  wife  and  children  will  now  be  beg 
gars.  My  name  is  Nossen  Cohn,  and  I  am 
a  Polish  merchant,  and  have  come  here  to 

do  business.     All  went,  thanks  be  to  God, 
100 


SHIMMELE   CHOOSES  A   PROFESSION 

very  well,  until  this  morning,  when  I  awoke 
and  found  my  bag  with  all  my  money  gone. 
I  quickly  ran  to  this  one  here,  my  hired 
man,  and  cried,  '  Chayim,'  I  cried,  '  where 
is  my  money,  my  thousand  ducats?  '  He 
looked  at  me  and  said,  '  What  ails  thee? 
Art  drunk  or  mad?  What  dost  mean  to 
call  me  Chayim?  Am  I  not  Nossen  Cohn, 
the  merchant,  and  thou  Chayim,  my 
hired  man?'  'Great  God  of  Israel!'  I 
cried.  *  The  man  is  utterly  mad,'  and  now 
he  insists  that  I  am  the  hired  man  and  he 
the  merchant.  For  God's  sake,  rabbi,  get 
me  back  my  money,  or  my  wife  and  chil 
dren  are  beggars.'  And  now  the  other 
man  began  and  told  the  same  story,  only 
with  more  tears,  with  more  lamentations. 
The  rabbi  knew  not  what  to  do.  The  men 
were  strangers,  no  one  knew  them.  He 
talked  to  each  one  separately  to  try  and 
soften  their  hearts,  and  spoke  of  God's  Law 
and  God's  wrath,  but  it  was  of  no  use.  Each 

swore  he  was  Nossen  Cohn,  the  merchant, 
101 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


and  the  other  Chayim,  the  hired  man. 
Then  the  rabbi  sent  them  away,  and  told 
them  to  return  the  next  day.  All  night 
the  rabbi  sat  over  his  big  books  and 
'  learned '  and  prayed.  In  the  morning 
he  told  his  servant  to  seat  the  men,  when 
they  came,  in  the  ante-room,  there  to  wait 
until  he  should  call  them.  Well,  when  they 
came,  the  servant  did  as  he  was  told.  And 
while  the  men  sat  without  waiting,  they 
heard  the  rabbi  in  his  room  thundering 
and  stamping  about  as  if  in  great  rage. 
Suddenly  he  flung  open  the  door  and 
roared :  '  The  hired  man  come  in  first ! ' 
Quickly  the  hired  man  started  from  his 
seat,  then  he  bethought  himself,  but  it  was 
too  late.  Reb  Yecheskel  now  had  his 
Gancf  (thief),  and  the  man  had  to  confess 
and  give  the  merchant  back  his  money. 
When  the  people  heard  of  what  their  rabbi 
had  done,  they  all  were  dumb  with  wonder; 
even  the  envious  ones  now  saw  that  Ye 
cheskel  Landau  had  a  piece  of  the  wisdom 
102 


SHIMMELE   CHOOSES   A   PROFESSION 


of  Solomon.  Ai,  Shimmele,  what  a  man, 
what  a  Zaddik,  humble  and  pure  in  spirit 
although  he  was  great,  not  like  the  wicked 
ones  of  nowadays.  They  pray  and  fast 
and  beat  their  breasts,  and  next  day  are  as 
bad  as  ever.  They  forget  what  is  written, 
that  charity  is  better  than  prayers.  Nay, 
he  was  not  of  that  sort,  a  zerbrochener 
Jild  (contrite  of  spirit)  he  was,  and  every 
Monday  and  Thursday  he  fasted  just  as 
if  it  were  Tisho  UAv  (the  fast  of  the  de 
struction  of  the  Temple),  from  evening  to 
evening,  and  not  a  bite  or  drop  passed 
his  lips.  Shimmele,  Shimmele,  if  thou 
couldst  become  like  the  great  Yecheskel 
Landau ! " 

"  Fast  twice  a  week !  "  Shimmele's  jaw 
dropped  with  utter  consternation. 

"  But  he  was  a  mighty  man,"  proceeded 
Maryam,  "  strong  in  body  as  in  spirit,  and 
when  he  ended  his  fast  and  sat  down  to 
table,  they  say  of  him  that  he  ate — thou 
wilt  never  guess,  not  if  thou  wert  to  guess 

103 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


from  now  until  the  Messiah  comes,  what 
he  ate." 

"What?" 

"  A  whole  roast  turkey! " 

Shimmele's  face  cleared  as  if  by  magic. 

"  A  whole  roast  turkey !  "  he  gasped  de 
lightedly,  and  in  his  eyes  shone  a  high 
determination. 

"  Babele,"  he  cried  with  fine  resolve, 
"I'm  going  to  study  terrible  hard — '  Say 
ings  '  three  times  a  week,  and  sleep  on  my 
Chumesh  (Pentateuch).  Oh,  wouldn't  I 
just  love  to  be  chief-rabbi !  " 


104 


VI 
THE  BACKSTUB 


VI 

THE  BACKSTUB 

In  a  way  Maryam  might  have  filled  the 
office  of  a  mercantile  agency  for  Maritz; 
she  knew  perfectly  whose  business  was 
flourishing  and  whose  on  the  wane,  who 
was  provident  and  who  was  shiftless;  yet 
her  investigations  were  of  the  simplest,  be 
ing  made  in  her  own  house.  The  source 
of  her  knowledge,  indeed,  was  nothing  else 
than  the  Shalet-pots,  which  contained  the 
Sabbath  dinners.  These  were  brought  to 
her  Friday  afternoon,  tightly  covered  and 
hermetically  sealed  with  paste  made  of 
flour  and  water,  yet  Maryam  had  but  to 
take  one  in  her  hands,  and  she  knew  what 
it  contained. 

"  How  canst  tell?  "  asked  Shimmele. 

"  May  I  live,"  laughed  Maryam,  "  but 
that  is  a  foolish  question.  Shall  thy  old 

107 


IDYLS   OF  THE   GASS 


Babe  not  know  a  pot  of  peas  from  one  of 
goose  with  rice?  " 

Some  brought  their  pots  themselves;  a 
few  of  the  rich  ones  had  a  servant;  many 
were  brought  by  Eisak  Schulklopfer's  Yain- 
kele,  one  of  whose  numerous  occupations 
was  that  of  carrying  to  and  fro  the  Sab 
bath  dinners. 

And  Maryam  pushing  the  pots  into  the 
great  oven  would  speak  thus: 

"  Hastu  gesehcn/  Noodles  with  chick 
en!  Did  Anshel  win  the  first  prize  in  the 
lottery?"  or: 

"Shalet,  eggs,  and  Kugel!  Is  that  all? 
Hm !  Reb  Noach  is  also  one  of  those  who 
lives  only  to  eat!  "  or: 

"  Wai,  'tis  a  light  pot  this  of  Loser  Pere- 
les,  a  little  peas  and  barley,  oser  a  sign  of 
meat.  Such  a  Shlemiel,  with  his  everlast 
ing  praying.  He  will,  nebbich,  soon  be  en 
tirely  mechulleh  (bankrupt)." 

When  she  could,  Maryam  helped  out  a 
deficiency,  but  this  was  connected  with 

108 


THE   BACKSTUB 


great  care,  and  involved  an  intricate  sys 
tem  of  strategy,  for  her  troubles  were  pe 
culiar  ones.  The  greatest  of  them  was 
based  upon  a  precept  that  has  never  been 
printed  in  any  book  of  ethics.  In  fact, 
Maryam  invented  it  herself  and  for  her 
own  needs.  It  was  this :  "  Never  let  them 
thank  you.  If  they  insist,  run !  " 

Maryam  was  a  socialist,  a  protestant  by 
nature,  she  chafed  at  the  slow  progress  of 
the  world  towards  Messianic  perfection. 
Yet  there  was  one  institution  in  the  Gass 
that  pleased  her,  for  it  was  based  upon 
this  her  precept.  This  was  the  Burial  So 
ciety. 

I  would  that  our  modern  charity  organi 
zations  might  have  had  a  lesson  of  the 
Burial  Society  in  the  Gass.  1  would  that 
our  tender-hearted  committees  who  line 
up  the  poor  like  cattle  and  brand  them  be 
fore  the  face  of  man — I  would  that  they 
might  have  studied  the  methods  of  the  Bu 
rial  Society  in  the  Gass.  And  our  teach- 

109 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


ers,  those  honored  makers  of  the  nation, 
who  cry  without  a  tremor,  "  All  children 
who  are  too  poor  to  buy  books,  please 
rise !  " — the  little  ones  pale  and  tremble, 
and  often  the  pain  draws  such  bitter  tears 
— would  that  they  might  have  learnt  the 
tenderness  of  the  Burial  Society  in  the 
Gass! 

When  a  death  occurs  there,  whether  in 
the  house  of  the  rich  or  the  poor,  the  So 
ciety  sends  two  locked  boxes  to  the  be 
reaved.  One  contains  the  funds  of  the  So 
ciety,  the  other  is  empty.  The  fund  must 
then  be  transferred  from  one  box  to  the 
other,  and  in  the  process  one  may  add  to 
it,  or  take  from  it,  or  leave  it  intact.  The 
boxes  are  then  returned  locked,  and  no  one 
knows  or  can  know  who  has  made  a  dona 
tion  or  who  has  a  charity  funeral. 

Maryam  approved  of  this  institution  (she 
had  her  own  burial  money  and  grave- 
clothes  put  safely  away  in  her  Kisf)  only  to 

chafe  because  there  were  not  similar  ones 
110 


THE   BACKSTUB 


for  the  providing  of  food  and  clothes  for 
the  poor. 

On  a  Friday  afternoon  in  midwinter, 
Maryam  stood  in  the  Backstub  at  her  work; 
all  the  Sabbath-pots  were  in  save  that  of 
Loser  Pereles. 

"  It's  late,"  she  said,  "  I  wonder  what's 
the  matter  with  Bele,  she  has  not  sent  her 
Shalet" 

"  Shall  I  go  fetch  it?  "  said  Shimmele. 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Maryam,  but  to  herself 
she  said,  "  Alas,  there  may  be  none." 

It  was  growing  dark,  Eisak  Schulklopfer 
was  crying  through  the  street,  warning  the 
people  of  the  approaching  Sabbath,  and 
Maryam  looked  out  of  the  window  with  an 
anxious  air. 

"  Perhaps,  God  forbid,  Mairele  is  sick," 
she  said  presently.  '  Yentele  told  me  he 
has  a  cold  on  his  chest.  Go,  Shimmele, 
go.  Say  I'd  like  to  know  how  Mairele  is. 
Thou  canst  also  sniff  a  little  whether  they 
have  baked  their  B arches  (Sabbath  bread)." 
111 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


"  I  can  also  ask  them  for  their  Shalet" 
said  Shimmele,  the  clever. 

"  Do  not  dare ! "  cried  Maryam,  with 
such  vehemence  that  Shimmele  looked  in 
surprise. 

"Nu?"  she  cried  eagerly  when  he  re 
turned. 

"  Mairele  and  the  rest  are,  thank  God, 
well,  and  I  sniffed,  but  it  smelled  not  of 
Barches." 

"  What  was  Bele  cooking?  " 

"  She  was  not  cooking." 

"  Then  was  her  supper  already  on  the 
table?" 

"  I  saw  nothing  on  the  table.  She  was 
cutting  bread,  and  her  eyes  were  red." 

"  And  Loser?  " 

"  He  stood  in  the  corner  with  his  Sid- 
dur,  and  he  was  praying." 

"  Wai"  lamented  Maryam  in  her  heart, 
and  though  it  is  bidden  to  be  joyous  on 
the  Sabbath,  she  that  evening  sighed  deep 
ly  over  her  prayer-book. 
112 


THE   BACKSTUB 


The  next  day,  as  Maryam  and  Shimmele 
were  seating  themselves  for  dinner,  the  lit 
tle  one  cried  suddenly: 

"  Why  have  we  such  a  big  potful  of  Sha- 
let  to-day,  Babele?" 

Maryam  fidgeted,  looked  at  Shimmele 
uneasily,  and  said,  while  the  blood  rushed 
to  her  face  (she  was  such  a  poor  liar) : 

"  I  thought  it  was  our  turn  to  have  some 
Orchim  (beggar-guests)  this  week." 

"  But  we  just  had  one  last  week." 

"  I  know  it,  but  I  had  forgotten,"  and 
Maryam  murmured  something  about  Yen- 
tele,  who  sits  around  when  one  is  busiest, 
and  whose  mouth  goes  like  a  wind-mill  un 
til  one  does  not  know  where  one's  head 
stands. 

Shimmele  had  a  good  plateful  of  the 
Shalet,  the  meat  being  to  the  peas  and 
barley  as  one  is  to  ten.  A  reckless  child 
might  have  got  away  with  it  at  a  bite,  but 
Shimmele  appreciated  its  value,  and  by 
taking  tiny  morsels  with  great  spoonfuls  of 

113 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


the  porridge,  he  managed  to  have  meat 
through  the  whole  meal. 

Maryam  took  upon  her  plate  as  much  as 
one  could  hold  upon  the  end  of  a  fork  and 
nibbled  at  it. 

"Why  dost  not  eat,  Babele? "  asked 
Shimmele. 

"  My  stomach  is  not  well." 

"Art  sick?  "  cried  Shimmele. 

"  Nu,  nu}  thou  needst  not  right  away 
make  a  fuss.  I  had  too  much  Bardies  for 
my  breakfast,  and  it  disagreed  with  me. 
What  of  it?" 

"  Thou  hadst  best  eat  a  little,  Babele," 
urged  Shimmele. 

"  Nay,  nay,  I  have  a  pain." 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  Shimmele 
had  known  his  grandmother  to  be  not  well 
at  the  stomach,  but  never  had  he  heard  her 
complain  of  pain. 

"  Shall  I  get  the  doctor?  "  he  cried  in 
alarm. 

in 


THE  BACKSTUB 


"Ach,  nonsense,  a  doctor!  A  doctor  is 
good  when  one  doesn't  need  him." 

"  Nu,  eat  a  little  anyhow.  Tis  good,  the 
Shalet." 

"  Not  a  mouthful  could  I  swallow,"  de 
clared  Maryam. 

Shimmele  ate  in  silence,  and  Maryam 
sighed. 

"  Such  a  potful,  'tis  a  sin ! "  she  said 
after  a  pause,  looking  expectantly  at  Shim 
mele,  but  he  was  busily  eating  an<3  did  not 
notice. 

"  What  can  we  do  with  such  a  great  pot 
ful?  We  could  not  eat  that,  not  in  three 
Sabbaths,"  she  pursued,  and  her  face  grew 
eager. 

Shimmele  was  reckoning  how  many 
bites  to  make  of  his  meat  to  balance  with 
the  porridge,  and  was  blind  to  Maryam's 
distress. 

"  I  wonder  at  thee,  how  thou  canst  eat 
without  a  care  while  many  a  poor  child 
perhaps  hungers !  "  she  now  cried. 

115 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


Her  reproachful  tone  was  strange,  and 
Shimmele  became  thoughtful.  "  If  they 
hunger,  why  dost  not  give  them  our 
Shaletf  "  he  asked. 

Maryam  beamed. 

"As  I  live,  Shimmele,  thou  art  right. 
Run,  quick,  and  take  it  to  them.  I'll  just 
wrap  it  up.  Need  the  whole  Gass  see  what 
thou  earnest  there?  " 

"Where?"  cried  Shimmele,  who  had  a 
dismaying  vision  of  himself  running  wildly 
from  house  to  house  in  quest  of  starving 
children. 

"  Hast  thou  not  said  it  thyself?  Where 
then  if  not  to  Loser  Pereles?  And  tell  his 
wife  Bele  that  I  was  expecting  guests,  and 
they  did  not  come,  and  we  cannot  eat  so 
much  Shalet,  not  in  three  Sabbaths,  and  I 
have  a  bad  stomach,  and  can  eat  nothing  at 
all,  and  it  is  a  sin  to  waste  God's  blessings, 
and  she  should  please  do  me  the  kindness 
and  give  it  to  her  children,  and  tell  her, 
I  said,  I  know  it  can  happen  to  anyone  to 
116 


THE  BACKSTUB 


have  so  much  left  over  from  the  week  that 
one  does  not  need  a  Shalet,  but  for  children 
it  is  healthy  to  have  a  little  something 
warm  in  the  stomach,  and  she  should 
please  do  me  the  kindness  and  give  it  to 
her  little  ones." 

Maryam  awaited  Shimmele's  return  with 
an  anxious  air,  as  though  she  had  sent  him 
to  borrow  a  thousand  gulden.  In  a  few 
minutes  he  was  back,  the  pot  still  in  his 
hands. 

"  She  said,"  he  reported,  "  I  should  tell 
thee  that,  thank  God,  she  is  not  yet  a  beg 
gar,  and  yet  has  bread  for  her  children,  and 
when  she  becomes  a  Schnorrerin  she'll  let 
thee  know,  and  until  then  thou  shouldst 
keep  thy  Shalet." 

"  So— hm !  "  said  Maryam.  "  What  had 
they  for  dinner?  " 

"  I  saw  no  dinner." 

Maryam  set  her  lips  as  she  put  on  her 
shawl. 

"  Now  7  go,"  she  said  with  the  tone  of 

117 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


one  bound  to  bring  a  refractory  criminal  to 
terms. 

Entering  Pereles'  house,  she  found  Loser 
sitting  at  the  table,  "  learning  "  out  of  a 
large  Talmud  volume.  The  children  were  by 
the  stove,  which  contained  little  fire,  play 
ing  with  a  Trenderl  (top)  quietly  as  though 
some  one  were  asleep  near  by.  Everything 
was  spotlessly  clean,  and  though  the  table 
wras  empty,  snowy  linen  gleamed  upon  it. 
As  Maryam  entered,  the  inner  door  opened, 
and  Bele  stepped  into  the  room.  Like  her 
house  festive  though  joyless,  she  was 
dressed  in  her  Sabbath  clothes,  but  her  eyes 
were  red  and  swollen  with  weeping,  and  her 
mouth  was  drawn  bitterly. 

At  sight  of  her  misery  Maryam's  face 
changed;  she  became  timid  and  apologetic 
in  a  moment;  she  was  again  borrowing  a 
thousand  gulden. 

"Why  dost  thou  insult  me,  Bele,"  she 
said  gently,  "  and  through  the  mouth  of  a 
child?" 

118 


THE   BACKSTUB 


Bele  was  melted,  she  burst  into  tears. 

"  No  one  ever  yet  insulted  me  by  saying 
I  do  not  feed  my  children  and  sending  me 
food  into  the  house  as  if  I  were  a  beggar," 
sobbed  she. 

"  I  am  an  old  woman/'  said  Maryam, 
talking  fiercely  to  hide  a  tremor,  "  thou  a 
young  one,  and  when  I  ask  thee  to  do  me 
a  favor,  it  is  no  insult.  Can  I  help  it,  if  my 
old  head  is  growing  weak,  and  by  mistake 
I  cook  a  potful  of  Shalet  that  my  Shimmele 
and  I  could  not  eat,  not  in  three  Sab 
baths?  " 

'  You  did  it  on  purpose,"  wept  Bele. 

"  Now  she  would  tell  me  yet  that  I  lie !  " 
cried  Maryam,  growing  red  in  the  face. 

"  Why  do  you  not  save  your  Shalet  for 
to-morrow  then?  Where  is  it  written,  you 
must  eat  it  all  to-day?  " 

"  Have  I  not  told  thee,  I  have  a  sick 
stomach?  Thou  couldst  lay  me  down  a 
ten-gulden  gold  piece  and  I  could  not  swal 
low  a  mouthful.  And  those  Kinderleben" 

119 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


she  went  on  evasively,  turning  to  the  chil 
dren,  who  eyed  with  hungry  looks  the  pot 
on  the  table,  "  are  those  faces  for  the  Sab 
bath?  Hast  not  learnt  it  is  a  sin  to  keep 
our  dear  holy  Sabbath  with  long  faces  and 
tears?" 

Loser  for  the  first  time  now  looked  up 
from  his  book. 

"  Madam  Maryam  is  right,"  he  said. 
"  It  is  written,  thou  shalt  rejoice  in  thy 
Sabbath.  Have  not  our  sages  said,  thou 
shalt  celebrate  thy  festivals  half  for  God 
and  half  for  thyself?  So,  if  thou  takest  not 
the  Shalet"  he  continued  argumentatively, 
his  gaze  roving  longingly  to  the  Shalet-pot, 
"  thou  sinnest  doubly;  first  in  that  thou 
makest  not  joyful  thy  Sabbath,  and  second 
ly  in  that  thou  grievest  Madam  Maryam, 
and  thus  makest  joyless  her  Sabbath.  Also 
it  is  written  that  man  should  not  be  proud. 
Rabbi  Yochanan  said  in  the  name  of  Rabbi 
Simon  ben  Yochai  that  a  proud  man  is  like 

an  idolater,  for  in  Proverbs,  sixteenth  chap- 
120 


THE   BACKSTUB 


ter,  fifth  verse,  it  says  of  the  proud :  '  He 
who  is  proud  of  heart  is  an  abomination 
unto  the  Lord,'  and  in  the  fifth  book  of 
Moses,  seventh  chapter,  twenty-sixth 
verse,  it  says  of  idolatry,  '  Thou  shalt  not 
bring  an  abomination  into  thy  house/ 
Man  was  created  on  the  sixth  day  that  he 
be  not  proud,  for  the  flea  was  created  be 
fore  him." 

Bele  in  direct  defiance  of  this  last  repri 
mand  looked  proudly  through  her  tears  at 
her  husband,  as  the  Hebrew  quotations 
flowed  glibly  and  in  a  beautiful  sing-song 
from  his  lips. 

Maryam  in  the  meantime  had  taken 
some  plates  from  the  shelf,  and  helped 
each  of  the  children  to  a  great  spoonful  of 
the  Shalet.  The  little  ones  sniffed  the  fra 
grant  mess,  which  was  still  steaming  pleas 
antly,  and  looked  pleadingly  at  their 
mother.  She  could  not  resist  them. 

"  Say  grace,  children,"  came  the  tremu 
lous  consent,  and  they  fell  to  in  a  breath. 
121 


IDYLS  OF   THE   GASS 


Maryam  now  was  edging  nervously  to 
wards  the  door. 

"  God  will  reward  you,  Madam  Maryam 
Leben,"  wept  Bele,  grasping  the  old  wo 
man's  hand,  but  Maryam  drew  her  hand 
back,  and  colored  as  though  she  had  been 
caught  stealing. 

"  Look,  look,"  she  cried,  "  how  Mairele 
is  stuffing;  he  will  choke  himself  entirely," 
and  Bele's  head  was  hardly  turned  when  she 
darted  out  of  the  door,  and  fled  down  the 
street  as  though  the  "  evil  one  "  were  in 
pursuit. 

"  Babele,"  cried  Shimmele  in  wonder, 
"  art  going  to  eat  bread?  " 

"  Wouldst  have  me  desecrate  the  holy 
Sabbath  by  fasting  as  if  it  were  Tisho  b'Av 
(fast  of  the  destruction  of  the  Temple)?" 
cried  Maryam. 

"  But  thy  stomach !  " 

"  Nu,  a  bite  of  bread  won't  hurt  me.  My 
stomach  feels  a  little  better  even  now,"  said 

Maryam,  and  ate  bread  with  appetite. 
122 


VII 
A  DILEMMA 


VII 
A  DILEMMA 

Both  Shimmele  and  Bele  were  still  com 
parative  strangers  in  the  Gass.  They  did 
not  yet  know  that  Maryam's  bad  stomach 
was  always  connected  with  some  want 
among  the  poor,  and  had  long  since  be 
come  a  standing  joke.  In  fact,  the  only 
way  to  learn  this  was  through  time  and  ex 
perience,  for  a  joke  on  Maryam  the  wise, 
the  just,  the  pious,  dared  be  referred  to 
only  in  whispers,  or  with  smiles  and  winks. 

To  Shimmele  alone  it  was  decreed  that 
the  knowledge  of  it  come  like  a  blow.  It 
was  the  penalty  he  paid  for  his  greatness, 
and  the  offender  was  the  archenemy,  Yain- 
kele. 

Like  all  possessors  of  prominent  gifts, 
Shimmele  remained  not  long  unpunished. 
The  youth  of  the  Gass  were  forever  having 

125 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


his  superiority  flaunted  in  their  faces,  were 
forever  seeing  him  raised  to  the  skies,  and 
crowned  with  laurel,  and  those  who  did  not 
respect  and  admire,  hated  and  envied  and 
dreamed  vengeance.  Even  great  boys  who 
could  say  off  their  first  page  of  Talmud 
"  like  water "  had  to  hear  a  reprimand 
such  as : 

"A  shame  on  thee,  Muhme  Maryam's 
Shimmele  was  not  yet  two  years  old  when 
he  could  say,  '  Blessed  be  He  and  blessed 
be  His  Name/  " 

Such  prominence  could  not  but  attract 
the  stinging  gnats  of  envy  and  spite,  and 
they  spared  not  the  hide  of  our  little  ghetto 
lion.  The  sharpest  sting  was  Yainkele 
Eisak  Schulklopfer's,  for  his  grievance  was 
the  deepest. 

Yainkele  had  a  head  of  which  his  father 
said  in  despair,  "  It  is  so  thick,  one 
could  batter  down  walls  with  it,"  and  the 
teacher  in  the  Cheder  (school)  dinned  in 
his  ears  continually,  "  Shimmele  knows 

126 


A   DILEMMA 


more  in  one  hair  than  thou  in  thy  whole 
head." 

Whereas  Shimmele  was  going  along 
trippingly  towards  Moshe  Rabbcnu  (Moses 
our  teacher),  Yainkele,  four  years  older, 
stuck  fast  at,  "God  said,  '  Let  there  be 
light.' '  And  Shimmele  had  a  way  of  cry 
ing  out  from  fortified  places : 

"  Yainkele,  is  it  not  yet  light?  " 

Hence  Yainkele's  animosity.  He  sought 
revenge  in  many  ways;  most  assiduously 
he  pursued  a  chase  after  abusive  epithets, 
and  the  moment  he  had  bagged  a  new  one, 
he  flew  to  deliver  it  where  he  felt  it  would 
do  the  most  good,  in  other  words,  at  Shim- 
mele's  Head. 

From  a  beggar-scholar  he  had  learnt  a 
fierce-sounding  curse,  which  was  delivered 
in  connection  with  the  name  Mendelssohn, 
and  accompanied  by  spitting. 

Yainkele  sped  with  his  prize  to  the  hated 
genius. 

"  Hi,  thou — atheist! "  and  then  he  spat. 

127 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


It  took  Shimmele  like  a  blow  under  the 
belt,  and  left  him  gasping,  but  by  evening 
he  was  back  at  him. 

"  Hey — thou  Amhoretz  (ignoramus)  !  " 
roared  Shimmele. 

Yainkele  only  put  out  his  tongue. 

"  Chazzer  (pig),"  roared  Shimmele. 

Yainkele  jeered  hilariously. 

"Philosopher!" 

Yainkele  reeled,  and  once  more  was  Vir 
tue  triumphant,  and  Vice  lay  groveling  in 
the  dust. 

But  on  a  day  particularly  fruitful  of  mal 
ice,  Yainkele  planted  himself,  legs  apart, 
hands  in  pockets,  across  the  way,  and  cried 
sneeringly  to  Shimmele: 

"  How  is  thy  Babe's  sick  stomach?  " 

Shimmele  was  perplexed,  for  Yainkele's 
tone  meant  war,  and  he  could  not  see  how 
his  grandmother  was  involved.  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  curled  his  lips, 
which  eloquent  gestures  said  as  plainly  as 
words,  "  A  Chammer  (ass) !  " 

128 


A  DILEMMA 


"  She  never  has  a  sick  stomach,"  taunted 
Yainkele. 

"  What  knowest  thou  of  my  Babe's 
stomach?"  cried  Shimmele  with  withering 
scorn. 

"  More  than  thou,"  laughed  Yainkele 
impishly. 

"As  much  as  of  thy  Chumesh  (Penta 
teuch),  perhaps,"  sneered  Shimmele. 

"  She  just  makes  believe,"  shrieked 
Yainkele. 

"  Sheep's-head !  "  roared  Shimmele. 
"  She  has  no  sick  stomach  to-day,  but 
when  she  has,  thou  couldst  lay  her  down  a 
ten-gulden  gold  piece,  and  she  could  not 
swallow  a  bite,"  then  he  walked  haughtily 
on,  for  Yainkele  was  both  taller  and 
stronger. 

"  Nu,  my  father  says  she  need  have  none 
this  time,"  yelled  Yainkele  after  him,  "  for 
the  doctor  said,  Hendel  dare  have  nothing 
but  soup,  and  her  children  are  going  to 
eat  at  Malka  Loew's." 

129 


IDYLS  OF   THE   GASS 


The  blow  so  blinded  Shimmele  that  he 
walked  straight  into  a  fence,  where  he  stood 
and  hid  his  face  until  the  sting  had  gone 
out  of  it.  And  the  shock  added  to  his 
years;  when  he  recovered  he  knew  his 
grandmother.  After  that  he  had  but  to 
observe  the  faintest  symptom  of  digestive 
disorder  in  Maryam,  when  he  immediately 
cast  about  in  his  mind  for  the  subject  of  the 
greatest  want  in  the  Gass,  and  suggested 
that  it  be  relieved. 

"  My  Shimmele,"  boasted  Maryam, 
"  has  a  nose  for  suffering,  like  a  pig  for 


*  *  * 
The  days  following  the  Sabbath  of  Shim- 
mele's  recent  experience  of  his  grand 
mother's  sick  stomach  were  uneasy  ones 
in  the  Backstnb.  Maryam  was  under  ne 
cessity  of  working  with  one  eye  on  the 
window,  and  to  roll  a  sheet  of  noodle- 
dough  to  the  thinness  of  transparency  and 
still  keep  it  flawless  is  a  matter  of  no  small 
difficulty,  even  when  both  eyes  assist  in  the 

130 


A   DILEMMA 


task.  At  sight  of  a  woman  with  a  parcel 
coming  down  the  street,  she  would  start 
nervously  and  cry: 

"  Shimmele,  come  quick,  look,  is  she 
carrying  a  pot?  " 

"  No,"  said  Shimmele,  who  was  not 
merely  Maryam's  newspaper  but  on  occa 
sion  also  her  spectacles,  "  no,  it  is  Gitel 
Schuster  carrying  home  a  bundle  of  old 
shoes." 

The  reward  of  Shimmele's  daily  dili 
gence  was  a  story  told  by  Maryam  in  the 
dark,  her  knitting-needles  clicking  a  lively 
accompaniment,  for  Maryam  always  re 
served  her  knitting  for  the  evening,  it  be 
ing  economical  labor,  the  only  kind  that 
can  be  performed  without  light. 

During  this  troubled  week  Maryam's 
stories  were  all  of  one  kind. 

"  It  is  told  of  Rabbi  Chanina,"  said  she 
one  night,  "  that  in  his  town  there  lived  a 
poor  man  who  would  not  take  alms,  so  the 
rabbi  lent  him  money,  but  when  the  time 

131 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


came  to  pay,  the  poor  man  could  not.  Now 
the  rabbi  on  his  way  to  Schul  had  to  pass 
this  poor  man's  house,  but  rather  than  do 
this,  and  thus  remind  him  of  his  debt,  and 
put  him  to  shame,  the  rabbi  walked  a  dif 
ferent  road,  a  full  mile  out  of  his  way  each 
time;  because  it  is  written:  He  who  has 
lent  to  another  shall  not  pass  him  by,  lest 
he  put  him  to  blush." 

Another  time  she  related  this : 
"  Once,  long  ago,  in  the  good  old  time 
when  lived  our  pious  ancestors,  whose 
memory  be  for  a  blessing,  there  lived  in  a 
certain  town  a  wise  and  pious  man;  his 
name  was  Mar  Ukba.  He  had  a  neighbor 
who  was  so  poor  that  sometimes  he  had  not 
bread  to  eat,  and  he  and  his  wife  and  chil 
dren  all  hungered  together.  But  though 
he  was  poor,  he  was  very  proud  and  would 
not  take  alms,  and  on  Friday  his  wife 
would  burn  twigs  in  her  oven,  so  that  the 
people,  seeing  the  smoke  rise  out  of  the 
chimney,  might  think  she  was  baking  her 

132 


A   DILEMMA 


Sabbath-bread.  But  they  could  not  fool 
Mar  Ukba.  Thou  canst  think  how  it 
pressed  upon  his  heart  to  see  such  misery. 
So  what  did  he  do?  He  went  in  secret, 
when  none  was  looking,  and  each  week 
slipped  a  piece  of  money  through  a  crack 
in  the  poor  man's  door. 

"  Now,  the  poor  man  wanted  to  know 
who  his  benefactor  might  be,  so  he  lay  in 
wait  for  him,  and  once  when  Mar  Ukba 
came  again  with  money  to  his  door,  the 
man  sprang  out;  but  Mar  Ukba  turned  and 
fled ;  the  man  after  him.  They  ran  and  ran 
through  the  whole  of  the  town,  until  at 
last,  at  a  turning,  Mar  Ukba  ran  into  a  field 
where  stood  a  flax  oven.  Into  this  he 
crawled  to  hide  until  the  man  was  gone; 
but  the  oven  was  hot,  and  the  heat  over 
came  him,  and  when  they  found  him  he 
was  half  dead;  but  he  did  well,  for  it  is 
written:  Thou  shouldst  rather  cast  thyself 
into  a  burning  oven  than  put  thy  fellow^ 
man  to  shame." 

133 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


Maryam  paused. 

"Is  that  all?"  cried  Shimmele. 

"Is  it  not  enough?  didst  want  the  man 
to  be  entirely  dead?  " 

Shimmele  reflected,  and  Maryam  knitted 
in  silence;  had  he  been  able  to  see  her  face, 
he  would  have  noticed  a  troubled  look 
upon  it. 

"  I  think  there  was  another  reason,"  said 
Maryam  musingly,  "  why  Mar  Ukba  hid 
in  the  oven." 

"Which  one?" 

"  He  feared  the  man  would  thank  him," 
and  Maryam  sighed  deeply. 

"  Didst  say  Mar  Ukba  was  a  wise  man?  " 
asked  Shimmele  after  a  while. 

"  A  very  wise  man." 

"  I  think  he  was  foolish,"  said  Shim 
mele,  "  else  why  did  he  crawl  into  an  oven 
and  get  burnt?  If  that  had  been  me,  I'd 
have  lain  down  quickly  beside  the  oven, 
drawn  my  coat  over  my  face,  and  pre- 
134 


A   DILEMMA 


tended  I  was  one  of  the  farm-hands,  and 
had  fallen  asleep." 

Maryam  laughed  merrily  at  Shimmele's 
boldness,  and  gloried  as  usual  in  her 
wonder-child.  "A  little  head — a  little 
head !  "  but  suddenly  she  looked  grave  and 
said  earnestly: 

"Asleep!  As  I  live,  that  is  a  grand 
idea.  I  never  thought  of  that." 

On  Thursday  it  happened! 

It  was  in  the  afternoon,  and  Maryam 
was  making  her  famous  Taschkerln,  when 
suddenly  she  dropped  her  work,  and  said 
to  Shimmele  in  a  nervous  whisper: 

"  I'm  going  in  the  Stub.  If  anyone 
comes,  tell  him  I  am  tired  and  am  taking 
a  nap." 

Shimmele  had  not  time  to  wonder  at 
this  sudden  fatigue,  for  her  door  had 
hardly  closed  when  the  outer  one  opened, 
and  Bele  Pereles  entered.  She  had  on  a 
clean  cap  and  apron,  and  in  her  hands 

135 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


she  carried  a  pot  neatly  wrapped  in  a 
cloth. 

"  Is  thy  Babe  not  in?  "  she  asked. 

"  She  is  tired  and  has  gone  in  the  Stub 
to  take  a  nap,"  said  Shimmele. 

"  I  will  wait,"  said  Bele,  sat  down  on  a 
chair,  smoothed  out  her  apron,  and  sighed. 

Shimmele,  who  was  at  home  with  a  cold, 
sat  near  the  window,  scratching  curly  gar 
lands  of  Alcph  Beth  (Hebrew  alphabet)  on 
a  slate,  but  his  mind  was  not  with  his  task. 
It  was  busy  trying  to  unravel  the  mystery 
of  his  grandmother's  behavior. 

"Is  thy  Babe  again  well?"  asked  Bele 
presently. 

"  She  was  not  sick." 

"  Had  she  not  a  bad  stomach  only  last 
Sabbath?"  cried  Bele  in  surprise. 

"  She  had  a  bad  stomach,  but  when  she 
came  back  from  your  house  it  was  a  little 
better." 

Bele  gazed  attentively  at  the  child,  but 
he  was  gravely  scratching  away,  his  tongue 

136 


A   DILEMMA 


at  the  corner  of  his  mouth  wriggling  an 
accompaniment;  so  she  sighed  again  and 
gazed  into  her  lap. 

"  Does  thy  Babe  nap  every  day?  "  was 
her  next  question. 

"  No,  only  to-day."  Shimmele  started 
at  his  own  words;  they  were  to  him  as  a 
light  on  the  mystery. 

"  Shimmele,  child,  what  dost  say?  Per 
haps  she  is  sick  again,"  cried  Bele  at  this. 

Shimmele  ducked  his  head  to  hide  a 
giggle,  for  the  light  had  grown  very 
bright. 

"  She  felt  well  just  a  little  while  ago,  but 
I'll  bet — '  he  said,  eyeing  Maryam's  nice 
butter-dough  melting  away  on  the  bake- 
board,  "  I'll  bet  she's  feeling  terrible  now." 

Bele  looked  at  him  wonderingly. 

"  If  I  did  not  see  with  my  own  eyes  that 
it  is  Shimmele,  the  Bochurle"  she  thought, 
"  I  would  swear  it  is  that  thick-head  Yain- 
kele — the  Yiingel  is  talking  Shtuss  (non 
sense)." 

137 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


But  in  Shimmele's  mind  shone  clearest 
daylight. 

"  'Tis  a  good  thing,"  he  mused,  "  that 
my  Babele  is  not  Mar  Ukba,  and  the  Stub 
not  a  hot  oven." 

"  Dost  think  thy  grandmother  will  sleep 
long  yet?  "  asked  Bele  after  a  while. 

Shimmele  cast  a  critical  glance  out  of 
the  window. 

"  I  think  she  will  soon  be  up,"  he  re 
plied,  "  for  it  is  growing  late,  and  you  will 
have  to  go  home  and  get  your  supper." 

Bele  gasped.  She  cast  a  quick  compre 
hensive  glance  around  the  room,  at  the 
unfinished  work  on  Maryam's  baking 
board,  and  a  flood  of  understanding  swept 
also  over  her  mind.  The  blood  rushed 
to  her  face,  the  ready  tears  to  her  eyes. 
When  she  found  speech,  she  said  tremu 
lously  and  as  though  speaking  to  an  equal : 

"  I  was  not  always  poor;  my  father  was 
once  the  president  of  our  synagogue  and 
a  well-to-do  man.  There  is  no  one  in  the 

138 


A   DILEMMA 


world  from  whom  I  would  take  it  except 
thy  Babe.  Shimmele,  take  good  care  of 
thy  Babe,"  she  cried  with  sudden  warmth, 
"  such  a  one  the  world  has  not  yet  seen. 
May  every  Jewish  child  have  but  half  the 
joys  that  will  be  hers  in  Gan  Eden  (Para 
dise).  There  are  those,  Shimmele,"  she 
said,  raising  her  voice  and  addressing  the 
door  of  the  Stub,  "  who  hide  their  good 
deeds  from  the  world;  who  eat  not  that  my 
children  may  have  plenty.  There  are 
those  who  will  not  take  the  thanks  of  a 
grateful  mother,  but  I  know  what  I 
know !  "  she  cried  nodding  violently  at  the 
door.  "  Shimmele,  my  child,  take  very 
good  care  of  thy  Babe,  she  has  a  heart  that 
is  made  of  pure  gold !  " 

With  that  she  took  her  departure,  and 
at  the  same  time  Maryam  bustled  out  of 
the  Stub. 

"  May  I  live,  but  that  Bele  is  a  nuis 
ance  !  "  she  cried.  "  Keeps  me  sitting  be 
hind  that  door  as  in  a  prison !  "  (Maryam 

139 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


never  had  a  head  for  detail.)  "  And  look 
at  that  good  butter-dough,  soft  as  porridge. 
Now  let  her  come  and  bake  Taschkerln 
with  this  stuff !  " 

"  She  said —  '  began  Shimmele. 

"  I  know  what  she  said,"  interrupted 
Maryam,  "  thou  must  not  mind  her.  Bele 
is  a  good  woman,  but  she  talks  much  non 
sense." 

After  a  pause  she  asked,  "  What  was  that 
she  said  about  her  children — that  they  had 
plenty?" 

"  She  said  that." 

And  Maryam  went  on  baking  with  a  soft 
light  in  her  face,  and  when  she  lifted  her 
cakes,  she  patted  them  gently  as  though 
they  were  little  children. 


140 


VIII 
MARYAM  ADMINISTERS  JUSTICE 


VIII 
MARYAM  ADMINISTERS  JUSTICE 

On  a  Friday  afternoon  came  fat  Riwke, 
Reb  Noach  Fingerhut's  servant — she  who 
lived  in  a  perpetual  halo  of  the  prospective 
Chuppah  (bridal  canopy),  for  of  her  it  was 
said  that  her  brother  had  a  friend  in  the 
Province,  which  friend,  when  he  is  ready 
to  marry,  will  have  a  look  at  Riwke,  and 
provided  she  then  has  one  hundred  gulden, 
will  take  her,  if  he  likes  her.  In  her  hands 
shone  the  festive  Shalet-pots',  on  her  face 
a  look  of  conscious  importance;  and  the 
pots  contained  the  Sabbath  dinner  and  the 
look  much  pleasurable  excitement. 

"  Nu,  has  he  come  then?  "  joked  Maryam 
at  sight  of  her.  "  Thou  makest  a  face  like 
a  Kalle  (bride)." 

"  Go  long,"  grinned  Riwke  delightedly. 
"  Have  I  a  head  for  a  Chosen  (bridegroom)  ? 
I  have  other  Zores  (troubles).  Have  you 

143 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


not  heard  what  grand  company  we  have? 
Madam  Bliimele's  aunt,  the  rich  and  child 
less  Madam  Vogele  Apfelbaum,  whose  hus 
band  has  a  store  on  the  Ring  in  Prague. 
She  arrived  only  this  morning.  I  tell  you 
I  don't  know  where  my  head  stands  with 
all  this  running  about.  Three  full  covers 
of  silver  to  polish,  and  the  dishes  with  the 
gilt  edges,  and  all  the  cooking.  And  I 
unpacked  her  Sabbath  clothes.  Ai,  but 
you  should  see  the  dress,  Madam  Mar- 
yam, — gray  silk,  stiff  as  a  board !  I  tell  you, 
it  stands  alone,  and  real  lace  on  it  as  broad 
as  my  hand,  and  a  gold  chain  she  wears 
that  goes  four  times  around  the  neck. 
M — m — ,  but  Madam  Blumele  will  some 
day  inherit  a  lump  of  gold !  Her  aunt  is 
so  rich  that  they  no  longer  call  her  Vogele, 
but  Fanny.  That  must  be  an  elegant 
name;  it  is  the  same  as  the  Countess'  lap- 
dog's." 

"  How  much  has  she  put  into  the  poor- 
box?"  was  Maryam's  dry  reply. 

144 


MARYAM   ADMINISTERS  JUSTICE 

"  Mei  Sorg!  the  poor-box.  What  do  I 
know  about  the  poor-box?  "  cried  Riwke 
with  a  shrug.  "  I  only  know  that  for  two 
hours  I  have  stood  making  egg-barley — 
fourteen  fresh-laid  eggs  for  the  barley 
alone,  I  give  you  my  word." 

"  Nu,  may  the  rich  Madam  Apfelbaum 
not  spoil  her  stomach  on  it,"  rejoined 
Maryam,  and  turned  to  her  work. 

In  the  evening  after  synagogue  Shim- 
mele  came  home  excitedly  with  the  an 
nouncement  : 

"  There  was  a  great  quarrel  after 
Schul." 

Maryam  eager  for  news  stopped  short 
with  the  Zimmes-plaittr  in  her  hand. 

"  There  were  two  Schnorrers  (beggars) 
there,"  proceeded  Shimmele,  "  who  had 
Plctt  (tickets)  for  Reb  Noach  Fingerhut, 
but  Reb  Noach  didn't  want  them.  '  Give 
me  some  others,  or  give  me  four  next 
week,  but  this  week  I  won't  take  that 
kind,'  he  said." 

145 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


"  Ai,  Polakim  (Poles) ! "  interrupted 
Maryam. 

'  Yes,  dirty  ones,"  said  Shimmele  wrink 
ling  his  nose  significantly.  "  And  they 
went  home  with  Reb  Noach  anyhow,  and 
in  a  little  while  they  all  came  back,  and 
they  were  scre-e-eaming,  and  the  big  Polak 
said,  '  Does  he  take  me  for  a  leper  or  a 
thief  that  I  may  not  sit  at  the  same  table 
with  him?'  and  Reb  Noach  screamed, 
'  Does  he  think  I  would  ask  my  wife's  aunt, 
the  rich  and  childless  Madam  Apfelbaum, 
whose  husband  has  a  store  on  the  Ring  in 
Prague,  to  sit  down  at  the  same  table  with 
a  dirty  Polak! '  and  the  little  Schnorrer 
screamed,  '  Do  you  know  that  my  friend 
here  is  a  Chosid  (pious  man),  a  Maggid 
(scholar),  with  whom  no  prince  in  Israel 
need  be  ashamed  to  sit  down?  He  has 
more  wisdom  in  his  little  finger  than  you 
in  your  whole  head,  you  fat  money-bag ! ' 
and  Reb  Noach  screamed,  '  Either  you  will 
eat  in  the  kitchen  or  not  at  all,'  and  the  big 

146 


MARYAM   ADMINISTERS  JUSTICE 

Polak  screamed,  '  May  you  choke  on  your 
fish  before  I  will  eat  in  your  kitchen,'  and 
Reb  Noach  screamed,  '  Eisak  Schulklopfer, 
you  are  witness  that  it  is  no  fault  of  mine,' 
and  then  went  home,  and  the  Schnorrers 
remained,  and  all  the  people  were  gone 
except  Eisak  Schulklopfer  and  myself,  so 
Eisak  told  me  to  take  the  Schnorrers  to 
Reb  Awrom's,  because  he  didn't  know 
what  to  do  with  them,  and  Reb  Awrom 
sent  one  to  Malka  Loew's,  and  the  big  one 
he  told  me  to  take  to  Yossel  Rummer's, 
because  Yossel  has  not  had  a  guest  in  half 
a  year.  So  I  took  him  to  Yossel's.  And 
I  said,  '  I  have  brought  you  a  Sabbath 
guest,  Reb  Yossel,'  and  he  said,  '  God's 
welcome,  guest ! '  But  his  wife  didn't 
want  the  guest,  and  she  cried,  '  Yossel,  art 
mad?  We  have  not  enough  for  ourselves 
and  thou  takest  a  guest ! '  and  Reb  Yossel 
said,  *  Be  silent.  I  am  a  poor  man,  but 
thanks  and  praise  be  to  God,  I  have  never 
yet  sent  a  beggar  from  my  door.  We  have 

147 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


only  a  Httle  pot  of  peas  for  our  Sabbath 
dinner,  but  if  each  one  will  eat  a  little  less, 
there  will  still  be  a  spoonful  left  for  the 
guest,'  so  the  Schnorrer  remained,"  ended 
Shimmele  panting  hard  from  his  long 
speech. 

Maryam's  eyes  flashed  with  indigna 
tion. 

"  A  nice  world  nowadays,"  she  cried. 
"  One  must  live  to  see  a  Jewish  woman  too 
proud  to  sit  down  at  table  with  a  poor  man. 
Wai,  what  will  become  of  this  world,  if 
that's  the  way  they  do  in  the  pious  old 
Kille  in  Prague!  What  kind  of  a  woman 
is  this  Vogele  Apfelbaum,  this  Fanny!  As 
I  live,  Riwke  was  right.  '  Tis  a  fine  name, 
for  her  and  for  a  dog!  " 

Maryam  ate  her  supper  in  deep  abstrac 
tion,  giving  vent  to  her  indignation  now 
and  then  with : 

"  Reb  Noach  should  be  ashamed  to  sit 
down  to  his  fat  dinner  without  the  poor," 
and: 

148 


MARYAM   ADMINISTERS  JUSTICE 

"  Nebbich,  Yossel,  he  would  snatch  it 
from  his  own  lips  to  feed  the  poor." 

"  When  she  pushed  back  her  plate  she 
said,  "  God  is  just." 

And  when  Shimmele  had  said  grace,  she 
cried  as  an  additional  benediction: 

'  The  Lord  will  provide !  " 

The  next  day  at  noon,  Maryam,  having 
safely  dispatched  all  the  dinners  to  their 
owners,  was  sitting  with  Shimmele  at  her 
own  midday  meal,  when  the  door  burst 
suddenly  open,  and  in  waddled  fat  Riwke, 
her  face  blue  with  excitement. 

"  Our  Shalet! "  she  screamed,  gasping 
like  a  fish  out  of  water.  "  Where  is  our 
Shalet ?  What  have  you  done  with  it— 
our  Shalet?  " 

"  Don't  scream  so,"  said  Maryam,  "  I 
am  not  deaf." 

"  Not  scream !  Why  should  I  not 
scream?  I  could  tear  the  hair  out  of  my 
head.  As  I  stand  here,  fourteen  new-laid 

149 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


eggs  for  the  barley  alone,  and  two  smoked 
goose-breasts  that  melt  on  the  tongue. 
What  has  become  of  it?  Where  is  our 
Shalet?  " 

"  Did  I  not  send  you  your  Shalet,  like 
the  rest?" 

"Ours!"  shrieked  Riwke.  "A  pot  of 
wretched  peas  you  sent,  with  a  piece  of 
beef  as  big  as  two  fingers.  For  God's 
sake,  give  me  our  Shalet!  " 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,"  said  Maryam. 
"  Have  I  your  Shalet?  I  must  have  made 
a  mistake." 

"  Woe  is  me,"  moaned  Riwke,  dropping 
into  a  chair.  "  I  will  not  go  back  without 
the  Shalet,  not  if  you  kill  me  on  the  spot !  " 

"  Nu,  if  thou  wishest,  thou  canst  go  from 
house  to  house  and  hunt  thy  Shalet.  I'm 
thinking  there'll  be  precious  little  left  when 
thou  findest  it.  Take  my  advice  and  go 
home.  May  nothing  worse  ever  happen 
to  Madam  Apfelbaum  than  that  she  should 
eat  peas  on  the  Sabbath." 

150 


MARYAM   ADMINISTERS  JUSTICE 

"  Eat !  "  screamed  Riwke  anew.  "  Who 
speaks  of  eating!  Not  a  bite  have  they 
taken.  You  should  only  have  heard  Reb 
Noach  scream,  not  the  commonest  woman 
in  the  street  would  take  such  treatment. 
'  Why  dost  not  tend  to  thy  business,'  he 
screamed,  '  and  stay  in  the  kitchen,  and 
see  that  thy  pots  are  marked  plainly?  '  he 
screamed.  Who  would  stand  that !  '  The 
next  time  go  into  the  kitchen  and  mark 
them  thyself,'  screamed  Madam  Blumele. 
Was  she  not  right?  A  screaming  here,  a 
screaming  there,  that  God  have  mercy! 
One's  hair  stood  on  end  to  hear  it,  and 
then  began  Madam  Vogele,  '  I  did  not 
come  all  the  way  from  Prague  to  listen  to 
your  quarrels.'  As  I  live,  that's  what  she 
said,  and  now  she  sits  with  her  gloves  and 
bonnet  on,  and  waits  only  for  the  Sabbath 
to  be  out  to  go  back  home.  And  Madam 
Blumele  is  weeping.  It  could  melt  a  heart 
of  stone,  and  Reb  Noach  is  running  about 
and  screaming  that  the  roof  shakes." 

151' 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


Maryam's  lips  twitched  suspiciously,  and 
she  murmured  something  to  herself. 
Riwke  thought  it  was  an  expression  of 
sympathy,  but  what  she  said  was :  "  God 
is  just." 

"  Wai,  poor  Madam  Blumele,"  pursued 
Riwke,  "  never  will  she  inherit  the  gold 
chain  that  goes  four  times  around  the  neck, 
and  me  Madam  Apfelbaum  had  promised 
five  gulden  toward  my  dowry,"  and  Riwke 
fell  to  sobbing  loudly. 

"  Never  mind,  Riwke,"  said  Maryam 
soothingly,  "  thou  shalt  not  be  the  loser  of 
five  gulden  through  me.  As  I  live,  I  shall 
make  it  good." 

Meanwhile,  in  a  poor  little  house  at  the 
other  end  of  the  Gass,  quite  a  different 
scene  from  that  described  by  Riwke  was 
being  enacted. 

Yossel  Kummer,  his  face  beaming  with 
unwonted  pleasure,  sat  with  his  family 
around  the  dinner-table  listening  rever 
ently  to  the  speech  of  the  beggar-scholar. 

152 


MARYAM   ADMINISTERS  JUSTICE 

"  It  is  written,"  the  Schnorrer  was  saying 
in  Talmudic  sing-song,  "  that  benevolence 
reconciles  man  with  God.  Thus,  for  in 
stance,  the  poor  man  complains,  "  Why  is 
Fate  so  unkind?  Am  I  not  also  a  child 
of  God?  I  lie  on  the  bare  earth,  and  the 
rich  man  on  soft  pillows;  I  in  a  miserable 
hut  that  is  not  even  mine,  and  he  in  a 
palace  that  he  owns ! '  Then  the  benevo 
lent  man  with  his  charity  silences  the  la 
ment  of  the  poor,  and  to  him  God  speaks, 
'  Through  thy  benevolence  thou  hast  rec 
onciled  this  poor  man  with  me;  thou  mak- 
est  peace  between  us.' ' 

"  This  is  a  beautiful  word  that  you  have 
spoken,  guest,"  cried  Yossel,  who  relished 
the  clean-cut  Talmud  logic  better  than  old 
wine.  :  'Tis  many  months  since  I  have 
heard  such  a  beautiful  word  at  my  table. 
And  if  I  had  not  a  bite  to  eat,  I  should  still 
be  full,  for  such  a  word  tastes  better  than 
a  Yontov  dinner.  I  have,  alas,  but  little 
with  which  to  reward  you,  guest,  for  what 

153 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


is  worth  pure  gold — only  a  pot  of  peas,  but, 
as  I  live,  my  share  you  can  have,  for  the 
pleasure  of  such  a  fine  bit  of  wisdom  can 
sustain  me  for  a  long  time/' 

"  The  guest  can  have  all  my  share,"  cried 
little  Isserl  suddenly,  overpowered  with  ex 
citement  and  benevolence. 

"  Mine,  too/'  echoed  little  Fishele,  not 
to  be  outdone,  though  he  knew  not  what  it 
was  all  about. 

" '  Nu,  nu"  laughed  the  mother,  quite 
reconciled  now  to  the  guest's  presence, 
"  there  will  be  a  spoonful  for  all  of  us.  No 
one  of  us  need  fast  yet  on  the  Sabbath, 
and  he  who  has  not  enough  can  eat 
bread." 

Even  Yittl,  the  morose,  who  wore  a 
band  of  velvet  over  her  forehead  to  hide 
the  gray  upon  her  temples,  smiled  faintly 
as  she  brought  in  the  Shalet  dish,  and  set 
it  down  before  her  father. 

"  It  does  not  look  so  small  after  all,"  said 
Yossel,  critically,  measuring  the  pot  which 

154 


MARYAM   ADMINISTERS  JUSTICE 

was  wrapped  in  a  white  napkin,  as  he  ran 
his  knife  around  the  crusty  seal. 

But  suddenly  he  uttered  a  cry  of  sur 
prise,  for  the  lifted  cover  had  disclosed, 
through  a  cloud  of  steam,  a  great  round 
goose-breast  reposing  in  a  nest  of  golden- 
yellow  egg-barley. 

"  It's  a  mistake,"  cried  Yossel.  "  Run, 
Isserl,  quick,  and  take  it  back.  We  have 
somebody  else's  Shalet." 

"  Wait,  wait,"  cried  the  Schnorrer,  sniff 
ing  the  fragrant  steam  hungrily.  "  How 
do  you  know  it's  a  mistake?  " 

"  Shall  I  not  know?  Mine  was  but  a  pot 
of  peas  and  a  bit  of  beef,"  returned  Yossel. 

"  Well,  what  of  that!  Is  that  a  reason? 
Have  not  greater  wonders  happened  than 
that  a  pot  of  peas  and  beef  should  be 
changed  to  one  of  egg-barley  and  goose- 
meat?  Wonders  never  cease.  It  is  writ 
ten,"  the  Schnorrer  proceeded,  raising  his 
voice  to  the  melodious  sing-song  of 
"learning,"  "'He  that  followeth  after 

155 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


charity  and  mercy,  findeth  life,  charity,  and 
honor.'  Now  Rabbi  Yitzchok  said,  *  Does 
this  mean  perhaps  that  he  who  is  charit 
able,  and  strives  to  do  good  deeds,  will  be 
rewarded  in  that  he  shall  become  poor  and 
thus  receive  charity  of  others?  By  no 
means.  The  sentence  has  this  meaning-: 
God  will  give  to  him  who  is  good  to  the 
poor  the  means  wherewith  to  do  good.  Is 
it  not  clear  as  sunlight?  God  has  changed 
your  little  pot  of  peas  to  a  great  one  of 
egg-barley  and  nice  smoked  goose-breasts 
that  you  may  therewith  do  kindness  to  the 
poor.  You  would  be  flying  in  the  face  of 
Providence  if  you  sent  it  back,  for  clearly 
it  has  been  ordained  that  for  your  piety  and 
generosity  you  shall  this  day  eat  goose- 
meat." 

Yossel  listened  with  much  satisfaction  to 
this  fine  bit  of  wisdom. 

"  And  who  can  know,"  continued  the 
hungry  Maggid,  leaping  with  one  bound 
from  miracle  to  common  sense,  "  but  by 

156 


MARYAM  ADMINISTERS  JUSTICE 

this  time  someone  else  has  already  eaten 
your  Shalet,  and  if  you  send  this  away,  you 
will  only  have  to  bring  it  back.  By  that 
time  it  will  be  cold  and  unfit  to  eat." 

This  last  argument  caused  general  con 
sternation. 

"  See,  it  is  growing  cold  already,"  he 
pursued,  "  and  that  is  a  great  pity.  Need 
I  tell  you,  Madam  Kummer,  who  are  a 
matchless  cook,  that  egg-barley  to  taste 
right  must  be  good  and  hot?" 

The  gradually  diminishing  wreath  of 
steam  from  the  pot,  together  with  the 
Schnorrer's  warning,  had  raised  some  anxi 
ety  in  the  company,  as  the  fragrant  odor 
of  the  goose-meat  and  the  Maggid's  long 
speech  had  whetted  their  appetites. 

"  It  is  growing  cold.  It  will  surely 
spoil,"  wras  the  general  cry,  and  up 
held  in  his  step  by  nothing  less  than 
Talmud  authority,  Yossel,  without  more 
ado,  divided  the  Shalet,  and  all  fell  to 
with  zest. 

157 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


"  Tate  Leben,"  sighed  Fishele  with  de 
light,  when  he  could  stuff  no  more,  "  it 
tasted  just  like  a  Chassenah  (wedding)." 


158 


IX 
THE  K1DDUSH  CUP 


IX 
THE  KIDDUSH  CUP 

Many  are  the  singers  in  Israel  who  have 
sung  the  song  of  the  Sabbath,  and  none 
more  sweetly  than  that  great  bad  boy 
Heine.  Of  its  sanctity  and  of  its  joy;  of 
its  peace  and  its  holiness;  of  its  charm  and 
its  glory,  have  they  sung.  But  had  I  the 
voice  of  song,  I  should  sing,  above  all,  of 
its  rest — the  sweet  Sabbath  rest.  Ah !  how 
dearly  sought,  how  sorely  needed,  is  this 
short  Sabbath  rest  in  the  Gass,  for  short 
it  is  at  best,  and  not  until  the  important 
morning  synagogue  service  is  over,  and 
the  dinner  partaken  of,  when  for  once  in 
the  week  the  Gass  eats  its  fill, — which  is 
also  a  pious  deed  on  the  Sabbath, — not 
until  then  can  one  speak  of  true  Sabbath 
rest. 

The  peddler's  pack  lies  unnoticed  in  a 

161 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


corner,  and  Anshel  himself  dozes  peace 
fully  by  the  fire;  the  cobbler's  bench  is 
hid  away,  and  Mendel  sprawls  grandly  as 
a  lord  on  his  wooden  settle;  the  shops  and 
stores  are  closed,  and  their  owners  nod 
silently  at  the  windows.  Put  your  ear  to 
any  house-door,  and  you  will  hear  the  com 
fortable  sounds  of  snoring. 

The  children  with  their  tops  and  balls 
play  quietly  that  their  parents  be  not  dis 
turbed;  the  youths  and  maidens  have  an 
other  way  of  resting.  They  walk  up  and 
down  the  street;  the  maidens  in  rows  with 
arms  intertwined,  fresh,  fair,  and  Sab- 
bathly;  the  youths  with  stiff  collars  up  to 
their  ears  and  thick  boots  creaking  festively. 
When  they  pass  one  another,  there  is  blush 
ing  and  smirking,  giggling  and  whisper 
ing.  In  ten  minutes  they  are  in  groups, 
youths  and  maidens  together.  Ten  more 
minutes,  and  lo !  the  whole  Gass  is  an  Eden, 
and  in  it  wander  nothing  but  pairs,  man 
and  woman,  as  the  Lord  God  created  them. 

162 


THE  KIDDUSH   CUP 


Maryam,  seeing  them  pass  her  window, 
knows  all  that  can  be  known  of  coming 
events.  Yes,  Maryam,  too,  is  resting. 
The  Backstub  is  closed,  and  she  is  sitting 
quietly  by  the  window.  On  her  head  is 
the  "  golden  Sabbath  cap,"  and  tied  round 
her  waist  a  black  silk  apron — glories, 
these,  left  from  the  time  when  Maryam 
was  a  fair  young  bride  with  a  rich  dowry 
and  a  fine  "  outfit,"  and  her  hardest  labor 
that  of  folding  her  satiny  linen.  She  has 
a  handkerchief  spread  over  her  lap,  lest  she 
sully  her  apron,  and  she  never  naps  so 
soundly  that  she  forgets  not  to  lean  lest 
she  crush  the  lace  upon  her  cap. 

Two  books  are  her  Sabbath  compan 
ions — one  is  an  old  prayer-book,  the  con 
tents  of  whose  yellow  pages  she  can  recite 
off  in  her  sleep;  the  other  is  a  large  black 
volume  with  the  name  Lessing  on  the 
cover.  Sometimes  the  one  lies  in  her  lap, 
sometimes  the  other,  and  'tis  known  of 
Maryam  that  she  never  naps  when  it  is  the 

163 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


one  labeled  Lessing.  The  older  people 
purse  their  mouths  up  doubtfully  at  this, 
but  say  nothing;  the  younger  folks  also  say 
nothing,  but  they  look  triumphant. 

In  the  course  of  the  day  many  of  the 
people  enter  Maryam's  room  to  receive  her 
Sabbath  blessing;  for  it  is  counted  as  pre 
cious  as  a  blessing  from  the  rabbi,  and  many 
a  heavy-footed  lad,  who  blushes  sheepishly 
at  the  glint  of  a  maiden's  eyes,  kisses  Mar- 
yam's  wrinkled  hand  with  rude  grace,  and 
bows  his  head  reverently  for  her  blessing. 

At  the  other  side  of  the  table  sits  Shim- 
mele  reading  aloud  out  of  a  large  book, 
which  lies  open  before  him.  The  book 
is  "  The  Sayings  of  the  Fathers,"  a  portion 
of  which  he  must  read  aloud  to  his  grand 
mother  every  Sabbath.  The  lines  are  full 
of  hard,  knotty  words,  and  Shimmele  has 
rubbed  his  little  cap  almost  to  the  back 
of  his  neck  in  his  effort  to  get  them  into 
his  head,  but  he  goes  on  bravely,  glancing 
now  and  then  for  stimulation  at  a  dish  of 

164 


THE  KIDDUSH   CUP 


stewed  fruit  which  stands  at  Maryam's 
elbow.  It  is  his  Sabbath  fruit,  the  reward 
of  his  efforts,  and  at  the  dry  places  he  finds 
refreshment  in  the  sweet  cinnamony  flavor 
which  rises  from  it. 

What  matter  what  Rabbi  Yochanan  ben 
Zaccai  says,  so  long  as  he  says  it  quickly, 
and  Shimmele  may  eat  stewed  prunes  and 
apples. 

It  was  Maryam's  habit  to  draw  a  weekly 
lesson  from  the  wise  sayings  of  the  Fathers 
for  Shimmele's  instruction  and  moral  ele 
vation;  but  on  the  Sabbath  following  the 
exciting  events  concerning  Reb  Noach's 
Shalet,  it  was  Shimmele  himself  who  ex 
pounded  the  text. 

"  Rabbi-Me-ir-said-"  spelled  Shimmele 
on  this  Sabbath,  following  his  fat  forefinger 
across  the  page,  "  look-not-at-the-flask- 
but  -  at  -  what-is-contained-therein-f  or-there- 
are-new-flasks-full-of-old-wine-" 

"  A  beautiful  word  that,"  interrupted 
Maryam,  "  and  true,  and  true,"  she  added, 

165 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


glancing  proudly  at  Shimmele;  for  clearly 
his  little  head  was  as  a  new  flask,  and  the 
wisdom  it  contained  as  old  wine. 

Shimmele  stopped  short  and  reflected. 

"  Babele,"  he  said,  rubbing  his  leg 
thoughtfully,  "  why  dost  say  it  is  true?  " 

"  Is  it  perhaps  not  true?  "  cried  Maryam 
in  surprise. 

"  It  was  not  a  flask  at  all,"  said  Shim 
mele  eagerly. 

"  Ai,  was  it  not? "  said  Maryam  in 
amazement. 

"  No,  'twas  a  Shalet-pot,  and  it  con 
tained,  not  wine,  but  egg-barley  and 
goose-meat  that  melts  on  the  tongue. 
And  Rabbi  Mei'r  said,  '  Look  into  it,'  but 
how  could  we  do  that?  We  should  have 
had  to  break  the  crust,  and  then,"  con 
cluded  Shimmele  decisively,  "  Reb  Noach 
would  have  screamed  louder  than  ever!  " 

"  Shimmele,  my  gold/'  cried  Maryam, 
1  'tis  as  I  said — thou  wilt  one  day  surely 
be  chief-rabbi,"  and  then  she  threw  back 

166 


THE  KIDDUSH   CUP 


her  head,  and  laughed  until  the  tears  ran 
down  her  cheeks. 

Of  all  the  stories  that  Maryam.  told, 
Shimmele  liked  best  the  one  that  was 
logically  connected  in  his  mind  with  the 
Sabbath  eve.  It  was  the  story  of  the  Kid- 
dush  (consecration)  cup,  a  beautiful  cup  of 
silver,  which  stood  in  solitary  grandeur  on 
Maryam's  Sabbath  table.  It  was  the  one 
story  that  was  delivered  to  him  without 
an  appendage,  and  contained  but  few 
moral  reflections,  and  Maryam  had  a  way 
of  telling  it,  with  many  gestures  and  ejacu^ 
lations,  that  Shimmele  never  tired  of  it, 
and  the  shudders  were  none  the  less  de 
lightful  because  he  knew  just  when  they 
were  coming. 

It  was  usually  in  the  evening  when 
Maryam  was  fondly  rubbing  the  cup  with 
her  apron,  before  putting  it  aside  on  the 
shelf,  that  she  would  begin : 

"  Five  and  forty  years  next  Purim — " 

167 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


'  The  French  were  then  in  the  land," 
Shimmele  would  prompt  encouragingly. 

"  That  they  were,"  said  Maryam.  "  It 
was  a  dreadful  time  that,  the  time  of  the 
French,  when  a  single  man — his  name  was 
Napoleon — took  for  himself  the  whole 
world,  and  left  nothing  for  anyone  else. 
In  those  days,  many  a  one  who  sat  one  day 
good  and  secure  on  his  inherited  estate, 
was  next  day  a  beggar  with  wife  and  child, 
and  thy  Dede  (grandfather) — he  rests  in 
Paradise — lost  all  we  Bad,  and  though  he 
was  a  learned  man,  a  great  Talmud  Cho- 
cham,  he  had  to  tramp  through  the  country 
with  a  big  pack  of  flax  on  his  back.  From 
one  farm  to  the  other  he  trudged,  buying 
flax  and  bringing  it  to  town  to  sell.  It  was 
hard,  bitter  bread  he  earned,  for  he  was, 
nebbich,  a  poor  business  man — may  he  for 
give  me  that  I  must  say  it,  but  it  is  true — 
and  when  he  should  have  been  thinking  of 
a  bargain,  his  head  was  full  of  learned 
things. 

168 


THE  KIDDUSH   CUP 


"  Well,  one  day — the  French  had  then 
overrun  the  whole  land,  and  were  as  far  as 
Vienna — thy  grandfather  was  walking  with 
his  pack  on  his  back  just  at  the  branching 
of  the  roads,  when  suddenly  six  men  came 
dashing  out  of  the  bush.  They  had  neither 
hats  nor  shoes,  and  their  faces  and  hands 
were  scratched  and  bleeding. 

" '  Save  us,  for  Christ's  sake ! '  they 
cried—  "  (Here  Shimmele  would  look  with 
breathless  admiration  at  Maryam,  for  few 
in  the  Gass  dared  pronounce  the  dreadful 
name  of  the  Christian  Messiah;  but  Mar- 
yam  was  an  intrepid  soul.)  '  We  are  Aus 
trian  soldiers,  prisoners  of  the  enemy. 
They  are  upon  us/  they  cried. 

"  Thou  canst  imagine  thy  grandfather's 
fright,  Shimmele.  What  was  to  be  done? 
He  had  just  come  from  the  farm  of  his 
friend,  Salme  Randar,  and  to  Salme  he  di 
rected  them. 

"  '  Tell  him  Chayim  Prager  sent  you,' 
he  said,  '  and  Salme  will  hide  and  take  care 

169 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


of  you/  and  as  a  sign  that  they  were  not 
lying,  he  gave  them  his  Tefillin  (phylac 
teries)  bag  to  give  to  Salme — ' 

Here  Shimmele's  eyes  would  rove 
knowingly  to  the  Kist,  and  Maryam  would 
say,  "  Yes,  'tis  the  same  one,  of  velvet,  with 
the  Mogen  Dovid  (Shield  of  David)  worked 
in  it,  that  lies  with  my  grave  clothes — I 
made  it  for  my  Chayim  when  we  were  be 
trothed. 

"  So  off  they  rushed,  and  hardly  had 
they  disappeared  in  the  bush  when  thy 
Dede  heard  hoof-beats  on  the  road.  He 
quickly  pulled  out  his  prayer-book,  for 
he  was  in  great  agony  of  soul,  and  they 
were  upon  him,  a  great  company,  twenty 
men  on  horseback. 

"  At  the  branching  of  the  roads,  which 
go  out  like  a  three-pronged  fork  from 
there,  they  stopped,  for  they  did  not  know 
which  way  to  go.  Then  only  thy  Dede 
saw  what  a  fearful  thing  he  had  done.  He 
had  brought  his  friend  Salme  Randar  with 

170 


THE   KIDDUSH   CUP 


wife  and  child  to  destruction;  for  that 
French  captain,  if  he  had  any  Sechel  (sense), 
would  surely  divide  his  company  in  three, 
each  to  follow  one  of  the  roads. 

"  Wai  geschrieen!  What  was  to  be 
done?  With  all  his  soul  thy  Dede  prayed 
to  God  to  let  him  die,  if  need  be,  but  to 
save  Salme  and  his  family;  but  all  the  while 
his  mind  was  not  idle,  for  he  knew,  if  he 
did  not  help,  how  should  God?  Was  he 
Moses  that  God  should  do  a  miracle  for 
him? 

"  Now,  thy  Dede  in  his  travels  had  often 
gone  as  far  as  the  Frenchmen's;  borders, 
and  he  knew  their  language,  but  at  that 
moment  fright  drove  every  word  out  of  his 
head — it  was  the  work  of  God,  though 
thy  Dede  did  not  then  know  it. 

"  He  went  up  to  them  anyhow,  and 
asked  in  German  what  they  sought. 

"  There  was  one  among  them  who  could 
speak  German,  and  he  translated  to  the 
captain  what  thy  Dede  said. 

171 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


1 '  Ask  him  if  he  saw  any  runaway  sol 
diers  pass  this  way/  the  captain  said  to 
this  man,  whom  they  called  something  like 
Michele.  But  thy  Dede  did  not  reply,  for 
he  saw  at  once  that  no  matter  what  he  said 
they  would  not  believe  him,  he  being  an 
Austrian  and  they  the  enemy;  in  any  case 
they  would  divide  in  three,  and  destroy 
not  only  the  runaways,  but  also  Salme 
Randar. 

"  Shema!  'tis  a  God's  wonder  thy  Dede 
did  not  drop  dead  on  the  spot  with  fright. 

"  Then,  while  he  hesitated,  one  of  the 
soldiers,  who  perhaps  noticed  his  prayer- 
book,  cried: 

"  '  Offer  him  money.  He'll  sell  his  soul 
for  money,  he's  a  dog  of  a  Jew,'  and  more 
such,  as  is  their  manner. 

"  Now,  wilt  thou  believe  it,  Shimmele, 
my  life,  even  as  he  spoke  a  light  went  up 
in  thy  Dede's  head.  Then  he  knew  that 
God  meant  it  well  with  him,  and  had  an 
swered  his  prayer.  Nothing  is  too  insig- 

172 


THE  KIDDUSH   CUP 


nificant  to  hold  the  word  of  God.  Here 
it  was  contained  in  this  mean  soldier's 
words.  Now  thy  Dede  saw,  too,  that  it 
was  a  blessing  from  God  that  he  had  not 
spoken  in  French,  for  they  thought  he  did 
not  understand  them.  So  he  made  him 
self  very  sly  and  said  to  this  man,  this 
Michele: 

"  '  Ask  your  captain  how  much  he  will 
give  me,  if  I  show  him  the  way  they 
went/ 

"  When  Michele  translated  this,  they  all 
set  up  a  great  roar  of  laughing,  and  thy 
Dede  knew  he  had  them. 

"  It  was  a  great  blessing,  Shimmele, 
that  those  Frenchmen  were  such  a  pack  of 
idiots,  for  thy  Dede,  who  rests  out  there 
in  the  '  good  place '  (cemetery),  was  but 
a  poor  hand  at  tricks. 

'  They  soon  struck  a  bargain,  and  thy 
Dede  told  them  a  pack  of  lies — how  that 
the  runaways  had  taken  the  forest  road  to 
Rodow,  how  that  the  way  was  hard  to  find, 

173 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


and  he  would  show  it  if  they  paid  five  gul 
den  extra. 

"  Nu,  why  should  I  tell  a  long  story?  In 
the  Black  Marsh  he  led  them  astray,  and 
when  their  horses  stood  shoulder-deep  in 
water,  and  they  could  go  no  further,  thy 
Dede  turned  around  and  said  in  good 
French : 

" '  I'm  afraid,  Mr.  Captain,'  he  said,  '  I'm 
afraid  we've  lost  the  way.' 

"  Tis  the  truth  I'm  telling  thee,  Shim- 
mele — there  was  not  a  man  among  them 
that  did  not  turn  white  as  chalk,  and  out 
jumps  the  captain's  sword  ready  to  run  thy 
Dede  through.  But  he  had  no  fear;  he 
had  been  saying  his  prayers  all  along  the 
road,  and  was  prepared  to  die,  so  he 
said: 

" '  What  do  you  think,  Mr.  Captain ! '  he 
said.  '  You  have  come  to  steal  my  Em 
peror's  land,  and  now  you  want  to  shoot 
down  his  soldiers,  but,  I  tell  you,  I  will  not 
allow  it ! ' 

174 


THE   KIDDUSH   CUP 


"  Then  they  began  to  laugh,  and  the 
captain  made  a  deep  bow,  and  said  to  thy 
Dede: 

'  I  hope  Your  Worship  will  allow  that 
we  leave  this  place;  'tis  a  trifle  damp/ 

"  My  word,  Shimmele,  thy  Dede  did  not 
feel  at  all  like  joking,  and  he  said  to  the 
captain : 

"  *  No,  Mr.  Captain,  that  also  I  cannot 
allow;  with  God's  help  I  shall  take  you  out 
again,  but  not  until  to-morrow  morning, 
for  I  have  reckoned  out  that  those  escaped 
soldiers  will  need  at  least  six  hours  start 
to  get  into  safety.  By  that  time  it  will 
be  dark,  and/  says  he,  '  many  a  one  has 
ventured  through  the  Black  Marsh 
after  dark,  but  none  has  yet  come  out 
alive.' 

"  When  the  captain  heard  this,  he  be 
came  entirely  meshugge.  '  You  are  my 
prisoner/  he  yelled,  '  I  command — for 
ward  ! ' 

"  Thy  Dede  did  not  budge. 

175 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


"  *  Shoot  him  down,  fellows ! '  bawled 
the  captain. 

"Wilt  believe  it,  Shimmele,  thy  Dede 
only  laughed. 

" '  Look  here,  Mr.  Captain,'  he  said, 
'  you  are  a  clever  captain,  and  I  am  only  a 
poor  Jew,  yet  I  tell  you,  one  of  us  two 
is  a  fool,  and  it  is  not  I.  If  I  will  not,  I 
will  not;  if  I  am  dead,  I  cannot — well,  then ! 
And  this  also  I  tell  you,  without  me  to 
guide  you  back  you  will  all  perish  here 
like  rats  in  a  trap.  Do  I  wish  that?  God 
forbid !  Do  I  not  know  that  you  also  are 
human  beings  and  have  wife  and  child  at 
home?  Find  your  way  out  if  you  can,  and 
I  promise  you  may  shoot  me  the  moment 
your  foot  touches  dry  ground.' 

"  Well,  after  two  of  their  men's  horses 
were  drowned,  and  the  men  barely  escaped 
drowning  also,  they  were  glad  enough  to 
follow  thy  Dede  to  a  high,  dry  place  he 
knew  of,  and  there  they  passed  the  night. 
And  Dede  built  a  fire,  and  boiled  water  for 

176 


THE  KIDDUSH   CUP 


their  whiskey  in  his  little  cooking  pot,  that 
they  might  have  something  warm  in  their 
stomachs,  and  they  called  him  no  more  vile 
names,  and  drank  together  like  comrades. 
"  Then  thy  Dede  prepared  himself  for 
death.  He  knew  they  would  take  him 
prisoner  to  the  French  camp  next  day, 
where  he  would  be  shot.  He  wrote  me  a 
long  letter,  which  the  captain,  who  had  a 
heart  of  gold  in  him,  promised  to  send' 
me — thanks  and  praise  be  to  God,  I  never 
got  it !  Then  they  sat  and  talked  together 
all  night,  and  Chayim  told  him  how  hard 
it  went  with  the  poor  Jews  in  those  trou 
bled  times,  and  how  he  could  hardly  make 
a  living  for  his  wife  and  two  young  chil 
dren,— thy  father,  Shimmele,  was  then  a 
new-born  babe, — and  the  captain  told  him 
that  he,  too,  had  a  wife  and  a  little  baby  at 
home,  and  so  they  talked  together  like 
brothers.  And  the  next  day  he  led  them 
safely  out  of  the  marsh,  and  they  went  back 
the  way  they  had  come. 

177 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


"  Well,  after  a  while  they  stopped  at  a 
field,  to  give  their  horses  a  feed  of  hay,  and 
as  they  stood  there  on  the  road,  thy  Dede 
with  his  hands  tied  on  his  back,  they  sud 
denly  heard  the  rolling  of  drums.  The 
captain  started,  listened,  then  quickly  he 
cried : 

"  '  The  Austrians !  Mount — forward — 
gallop — '  and  before  thy  Dede  could  catch 
his  breath,  he  found  himself  standing  alone 
in  the  road,  his  pack  lying  a  little  way  off. 

"  Thy  Dede  knew  at  once  that  this 
drumming  was  but  the  children  of  the  last 
hamlet  playing  at  war, — in  those  days  even 
the  children  had  the  war-fever, — but  the 
soldiers  were  gone.  All  that  was  left  was 
a  cloud  of  dust  rolling  down  the  road. 

"  Shimmele,  to  the  day  of  his  death  thy 
Dede  could  not  decide  whether  or  not  that 
captain  did  it  on  purpose. 

"  It  was  a  long  time  after,  the  French 
had  already  left  the  country, — they  had, 
alas,  humbled  the  Kaiser,  and  he  had  to  buy 

178 


THE  KIDDUSH   CUP 


peace  with  heavy  gold, — when,  one  day, 
six  soldiers  appeared  in  the  Gass,  and  asked 
to  be  shown  to  our  house. 

"  Yossel  Kummer — he  was  then  a  lad — 
ran  so  that  the  people  cried,  '  Where  is  the 
fire?  '  and  ran  after  him,  and  when  they  got 
to  our  house,  half  of  the  Gass  was  at  their 
heels. 

"  Imagine  the  fright,  Shimmele,  my  life ! 
Thy  Dede  had  just  come  home  for  the 
Sabbath,  and  all  thought  he  was  to  be  ar 
rested  and  brought  to  destruction,  but  it 
turned  out  that  those  soldiers  were  the 
same  ones  thy  Dede  had  sent  to  Salme 
Randar's,  and  they  knew  all  the  rest  he 
had  done,  and  they  carried  a  green  leather 
box,  and  in  it  was  this  same  Kiddush  cup 
that  stands  here  on  the  table. 

"  One  of  them  made  him  a  speech — it 
was,  alas,  a  foolish  speech — he  said  a  lot 
about  a  noble  Christian  deed,  and  more 
such  nonsense.  The  people  said,  '  With 
one  hand  they  fondle,  and  with  the  other 

179 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


they  smite  him' — but  they  meant  well, 
and,  nebbich,  knew  no  better.  And  thy, 
Dede  was  not  insulted,  and  when  he  saw 
what  the  present  was,  then  he  knew  how 
well  they  meant  it. 

"  Half  a  dukedom  they  might  have  given 
him,  and  he  could  not  have  been  more 
happy  with  it.  Not  because  it  was  beau 
tiful  and  of  silver,  but  because  the  Goyim 
gave  it  to  him,  gave  him  a  Kiddush  cup 
with  Hebrew  letters  engraved  on  it. 

" '  It  must  always  remain  in  the  family/ 
he  used  to  say,  '  and  go  from  father  to  son, 
to  be  a  sign  and  a  hope  in  dark  days  that 
the  Jew  shall  some  day  have  justice.' 

"  It  was  to  him  a  sign  of  the  coming  of 
that  day  when  God  will  be  One  and  His 
Name  One." 

Alas  and  alas  for  that  Kiddush  cup !  The 
hope  of  Israel  lives  on,  but  the  cup  ended 
miserably,  in  a  manner  that  had  broken 
Reb  Ohayim's  heart  had  he  lived  to  see  it, 


}80 


X 
VETTER  YOSSEF" 


"VETTER  YOSSEF" 

It  had  been  a  matter  of  course  to  Shim- 
mele's  earliest  consciousness,  like  the  fol 
lowing  of  night  upon  day,  or  the  lines  of 
care  on  his  father's  forehead,  this  blind 
ness  of  Fetter  Yossef 's  (Uncle  Joseph) ;  nor 
had  he  ever  thought  of  pitying  the  blind 
man. 

Why  should  one  pity  him  who  went 
about  the  farm  at  his  ease,  who  seemed  to 
see  more  with  his  blind  eyes  than  others 
with  seeing  ones? 

At  haying  Yossef  did  not  worry  about 
the  weather  as  did  others.  He  felt  the 
earth,  raised  his  sightless  face  to  the  breeze, 
and  said :  "  It  is  going  to  rain,"  and  rain 
it  would,  one  could  depend  on  it.  Nor  did 
he  have  to  run  to  the  barns  to  learn  wheth 
er  the  cows  were  at  home.  He  only  sniffed 

183 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


the  air  and  knew.  And  when  they  were 
hunting  mushrooms,  and  a  bough  plucked 
at  his  hair,  he  never  swore,  "  dam  that 
oak,"  if  perchance  it  was  an  ash. 

No,  Yossef  was  a  creature  rather  to  be 
feared  than  pitied;  a  wonder  who  lifted  the 
big  barrels  of  salt  which  no  one  else  could 
budge;  who  at  harvest  time  swung  the 
heavy  sheaves  as  though  they  were  feath 
ers;  a  silent,  moody  giant,  who  sat  through 
the  long  winter  weeks  weaving,  with  ma 
jestic  patience,  withes  of  straw  for  the  bind 
ing  of  next  year's  harvest. 

But  later,  when  Shimmele  lived  with  his 
grandmother,  and  the  intervals  of  separa 
tion  drew  forth  large  contrasts,  he  began  to 
marvel  at  this  strange,  gruff  man,  who 
stared  into  the  world  with  wide-open  eyes, 
but  whose  gaze  was  bound  by  a  hidden,  im 
penetrable  barrier,  which  not  the  bright 
ness  of  the  noon-day  sun  could  pierce. 

That  Vetter  Yossef  went  about  with 
Open  eyes  that  saw  nothing  was  not  half 

184 


"VETTER  YOSSEF 


so  strange  as  how  it  could  have  come  so, 
and  when  Shimmele  returned  from  a  visit 
to  the  farm,  he  would  overwhelm  his 
grandmother  with  questions. 

"  Was  Vetter  Yossef  always  blind?  " 
"  No,    child,"    replied    Maryam,    "  there 
was  a  time  when  nothing,   not  even  the 
smallest  pin  on  the  ground,  escaped  his  no 
tice." 

"  Can  he  not  be  made  again  to  see?  " 
"With     God's     help,     Shimmele,     with 
God's  help." 

"  How  long  has  he  been  so?  " 
"  God     help     and    defend — more    than 
twenty  long  years." 

"  Cannot  the  doctor  cure  him?  " 
"  There  is  not  a  great  doctor  in  all  of 
Europe  who  has  not  tried." 
Then  a  pause  and — 

"Babele,  how  became  he  blind?"  but 
quickly  a  strange  grief  came  into  Mar- 
yam's  face,  not  the  gently  sorrowful,  as 
when  there  was  hunger  in  the  Gass;  not 

185 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


the  softly  tearful,  as  when  there  was  a 
death;  but  a  dumb,  tearless  agony,  an  ut 
ter  aloneness  of  misery,  out  of  which  Shim 
mele  stood  debarred,  a  stranger  and  un 
noticed. 

So  Shimmele  hungered  on  to  know  un- 
appeased,  for  with  the  fine  instinct  of  child 
hood  he  felt  that  Yossef  dared  not  be  ques 
tioned  about  his  blindness,  and  Maryam 
could  not  speak  of  the  tragedy  of  her  life, 
which  had  shattered  at  a  blow  the  life  of 
her  husband  and  the  light  of  vision  of  her 
first-born. 

Once,  during  one  of  Yossef's  visits  to  his 
mother,  Shimmele,  who  took  but  little  for 
granted,  quickly  lifted  a  lighted  candle  to 
the  blind  man's  eyes,  to  see  if  he  would 
wink.  Yossef  did  n'ot  move  until  the 
flame  scorched  his  face.  With  a  cry  of 
alarm  he  thrust  the  candle  from  him  cry 
ing: 

'  Thou  wicked  one !  A  nice  sort  of 
creature  thou  art  raising  here,"  he  said  bit- 

186 


"VETTER  YOSSEF" 


terly  to  his  mother;  but  with  a  sudden  im 
pulse  Shimmele  threw  himself  weeping 
upon  Yossef's  neck. 

"  Now  I  believe  it,"  he  sobbed,  over 
come  with  the  vastness  of  the  affliction, 
"now  I  know  thou  canst  not  see  the 
least  littlest  bit— poor  Vetterl  (little 
uncle)." 

Four  children  had  been  born  in  his 
brother's  house  before  Shimmele,  yet  it 
was  the  first  time  that  a  child's  arm  lay 
warmly  around  Yossef's  neck,  the  first 
time  that  a  soft  little  cheek  pressed  his 
own.  Slowly,  almost  reluctantly,  his  great 
arms  arose  until  they  clasped  Shimmele 
close,  and  then  soft  tremors  began  to  flit 
over  his  face. 

When  he  returned  to  the  farm  next  day, 
ne  did  not  stamp  roughly  through  the 
house  as  usual,  but  rummaged  for  hours 
in  the  wood-shed.  Long  after  dark  he  re 
mained  within,  and  the  family  stared  to 
hear  him  softly  whistling  to  himself.  When 

187 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


he  came  forth,  he  hid  almost  shamefacedly 
a  child's  toy,  a  little  top,  within  his  big 
hand. 

As  at  the  farm,  so  in  the  village,  Yossef 
had  been  a  man  rather  to  be  avoided  and 
feared  or  wondered  at;  one  of  whom  it  was 
pleasant  to  tell  queer  tales  in  the  ghostly 
twilight — of  his  mighty  strength,  how  he 
could  twist  a  horseshoe  into  a  spiral,  and 
how  once,  in  the  heat  of  an  argument,  he 
had  crushed  a  thick  beer-mug,  like  an  egg 
shell,  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand.  Or  a  fear 
ful,  whispered  tale  of  an  awful  night  in  the 
early  years  of  his  blindness,  when,  after 
the  last  of  his  many  fruitless  journeys  to 
the  medical  celebrities  of  the  world,  Mar- 
yam  had  found  him  at  the  brink  of  the  river, 
his  clothes  weighted  with  stones,  ready  to 
leap. 

The  children  of  the  Gass,  too,  had  al 
ways  stayed  clear  of  Yossef;  still  it  was 
they  who  first  discovered  that  a  change 
was  coming  over  him. 

188 


VETTER  YOSSEF 


One  day  Schuster's  Maierle  paraded  a 
beautiful  blue  top  before  his  neighbors. 

"  Where  didst  get  it?"  they  cried. 

"  My  mother  licked  me,  and  I  was  hol 
lering,  and  up  comes  blind  Yossef  and 
gives  me  a  top,"  announced  Maierle. 

Soon  there  was  a  rumor  among  the  chil 
dren  that  Yossef  carries  ever  a  pocketful 
of  Trenderlech. 

"How  dost  know?" 

"  Schuster's  Maierle  got  one,  also  red 
Zirl,  Shimmele  has  a  heap." 

"  How  does  one  get  them?  " 

"  When  one  sees  Yossef  coming,  one  has 
but  to  stand  still  and  bawl." 

The  very  next  time  that  Yossef  walked 
through  the  Gass  the  air  was  filled  with 
wild  howlings. 

But  the  scheme  did  not  work,  for  Yain- 
kele,  the  thick-head,  spoilt  it. 

"Why  art  roaring  so?"  said  Yossef  to 
him.  "  Did  thy  mother  whip  thee?  " 

"  No,  she  cannot,"  boasted  Yainkele.  "  I 

189 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


run  too  fast,  but  if  you'll  give  me  a  top, 
I'll  let  her,  I'll  let  her  hit  me  hard." 

Aarele  Dorfgeher  discovered  a  better 
way. 

"Tis  not  true,"  said  Aarele,  "that 
blind  Yossef  snaps  one  in  two  like  a  dried 
twig,  if  one  but  speaks  to  him.  One  has 
but  to  bow  politely  and  say,  '  Good  day, 
Reb  Yossef,  good  week,  good  year,  may 
Reb  Yossef  live  a  hundred  years.  Have 
you  perhaps  a  Trenderl  you  don't  need? ' 
He  grumbles  something,  but  he  laughs 
too,  and  one  gets  a  Trenderl,  a  big  one." 

Such  boldness  was  a  thing  to  gasp  at, 
but  it  was  soon  generally  adopted,  for  you 
cannot  long  fear  a  man  who  carries  ever  a 
pocketful  of  tops.  And  it  proved,  too,  a 
source  of  much  pleasure  to  the  Gass;  for 
be  it  known  that,  though  a  Trenderl  is  only 
a  four-sided  top  with  letters  carved  on  it, 
it  is  the  best  kind  of  toy  in  the  world, 
"  suitable  for  young  and  old,"  as  the  ad 
vertisement  would  say,  and  more  games 

190 


VETTER  YOSSEF 


can  be  played  with  it  than  any  one  has  ever 
taken  the  trouble  to  count. 

You  can  spin  it  innocently,  as  does  a 
child;  or  tell  fortunes  and  the  initials  of 
your  true-love's  name,  as  do  foolish  maid 
ens;  or  you  can  gamble  with  it  wickedly, 
as  with  dice,  and — one-two-three — you 
have  lost  a  whole  pocketful  of  Plutzerman- 
delech  (pumpkin-seeds). 

Yossef  and  Shimmele  now  became  fast 
friends,  and  while  the  blind  man  unfolded 
for  the  Bochurle  all  the  simple  musings  of 
long  silent  years,  Shimmele  listened  so 
gravely,  and  had  a  way  of  saying,  "  Aiy 
Vetterl,  "  in  appropriate  places,  that  Yos 
sef,  not  seeing,  often  forgot  that  Shimmele 
was  but  a  child,  and  wandered  off  into 
paths  that  were  all  arid  desert  to  him. 

Like  the  crippled  who  strive  to  hide 
their  deformities,  so  Yossef  hid  his  blind 
ness  away  from  the  sight  of  man,  and  woe 
to  him  who  uttered  a  word  of  pity.  He 
had  hated  and  shunned  the  Gass,  but  Shim- 

191 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


mele  had  become  a  temptation  hard  to  re 
sist.  He  came  to  the  village  almost 
weekly  now,  and  they  had  a  tacit  under 
standing  that  Yossef  should  not  be  led 
through  the  Gass.  It  was  as  clear  between 
them  as  though  Yossef  had  said  bitterly: 
"Need  they  know  how  helpless  I  am?" 
and  Shimmele  had  cried  warmly,  "  No, 
they  shall  not." 

Their  manner  was  to  walk  apart,  Shim 
mele  a  little  ahead,  Yossef  behind,  stepping 
out  bravely,  at  the  risk  of  breaking  his 
neck,  his  head  in  the  air,  and  dangling  his 
stick  with  foolish  airiness  in  his  hand. 

Stupid  people  seeing  him  would  cryy 
"  Wahrhaftig,  it  goes  unbeschrieen  very 
well  with  him,  considering  ";  but  those  that 
understood  turned  their  faces  from  the  piti 
ful  sight.  They  knew  that  once  clear  of 
the  Gass  he  would  again  be  but  a  broken 
man  walking  with  groping  steps  and  tap 
ping  the  ground  with  his  stick. 

These  were  the  people  who  had  known 

192 


"VETTER  YOSSEF 


Yossef  in  his  seeing  days,  when  he  had 
been  counted  one  of  the  handsomest  men 
in  the  province.  His  had  not  been  beauty 
of  face,  but  he  had  had  a  pair  of  bold, 
laughing  blue  eyes,  and  a  body  like  a 
young  forest  oak.  At  all  the  neighboring 
fairs  he  had  played  in  the  games  and  con 
tests,  "  like  a  Goy"  said  the  pio;us  and 
shook  their  heads,  but  he  carried  off  all 
the  prizes  for  strength.  Not  a  maiden 
looked  at  him  but  her  eyes  lingered  with 
loving  glances,  and  there  was  a  tale  of  the 
daughter  of  a  rich  farmer,  a  Christian  girl, 
who  all  but  died  for  love  of  him.  He  also 
had  frequent  offers  of  Jewish  girls  with 
dowries,  but  his  heart  was  given  to  the 
poor  Schulklopfer's  daughter,  the  beautiful, 
coquettish  Channele,  and  he  would  have 
none  but  her.  Yet  no  one  took  these  two 
seriously,  for  so  long  had  they  been  be 
trothed  that  people  viewed  it  as  a  game 
at  which  they  had  played  in  childhood,  and 
had  forgotten  to  leave  off. 

193 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


"  He  has  nothing,  she  has  nothing,  on 
what  will  they  live?"  said  the  people,  and 
shrugged  their  shoulders  contemptuously, 
and  Channeled  father,  the  old  Schulklopfer, 
scolded  constantly. 

"  Thou  mightst  have  Mordche,  the  ped 
dler,  and  thou,  Yossef,  a  girl  with  a  dowrry, 
—a  pair  of  fools,  you  two.  For  what  do 
you  wait?  " 

But  Yossef  and  Channele  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes  and  said,  "  Still  we  shall 
wait." 

Channele  was  one  of  the  poorest  girls  in 
the  Gass,  but  she  had  a  face  at  sight  of 
which  men  grew  limp  and  weak-kneed,  and 
Channele  loved  best  to  see  them  so.  It 
was  known  of  her  that  she  always  got  over 
weight  at  the  grocer's,  for  she  threw  such 
blinding  glances  out  of  her  greenish  blue 
eyes,  that  long  Eisak,  the  clerk,  could  see 
neither  weights  nor  scales,  and  there  were 
certain  young  men  who  always  made  a  de 
tour  past  Schulklopfer's  house,  "  to  admire 

194 


"VETTER  YOSSEF" 


its  style  of  architecture,"  said  the  people 
and  winked. 

When  Channele  coquetted  too  much 
with  the  men,  Yossef  sat  white  and  grim, 
and  went  to  dance  with  the  peasant  girls; 
then  Channele  sulked;  but  soon  a  rumor 
was  about,  and  the  gossips  came  to  Yossef 
saying: 

"  So  it  is  off  between  thee  and  Channele. 
Long  Eisak  runs  there  every  day.  They 
say  'twill  be  a  match." 

In  three  bounds  Yossef  was  at  Chan- 
nele's  side,  crying  in  tragic  tones: 

"What  is  this  the  people  say?" 

Channele  cocked  her  round  white  chin, 
blinked  at  him  through  her  long  lashes, 
and  said: 

"  Nu,  why  not?  Thou  knowest  'tis  but 
a  joke  between  thee  and  me." 

Yossef  raged  and  tore  and  swore  that 
rather  would  he  die  and  Channele  with 
him,  till  she  threw  herself  on  his  neck, 
crying : 

195 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


"  Thou  wild  bear,  thou  silly  goose,  thou 
only  love." 

So  they  loved  and  teased  each  other,  and 
waited  and  hoped  till  came  that  glad  year 
when  their  patience  was  to  be  rewarded. 
Yossef  was  advanced  to  the  position  of 
foreman  of  the  spinners.  He  now  earned 
enough  to  give  his  parents  his  much-need 
ed  help,  and  still  have  enough  with  which 
to  found  a  home;  but  that  year  it  was 
Channele  who  sat  white  and  disconsolate 
and  wept  till  her  eyes  were  red. 

That  year  Frdulein  Rosalie  Birnbaum 
(which  name  is  spoken  with  elegantly 
pursed  up  lips)  came  to  visit  her  uncle, 
Reb  Noach  Fingerhut,  the  great  dry-goods 
merchant. 

Fraulein  Rosalie  looked  at  Yossef  and — 
was  lost.  And  Reb  Noach  invited  Yossef 
to  dine  and  sup;  the  ladies  knit  him  a  silk 
neck-cloth,  and  gave  him  a  meerschaum 
pipe,  and  the  people  said : 

"  'Tis  a  scandal,  but  surely  it  will  be  a 

196 


VETTER  YOSSEF 


match.  The  girl  has  money  like  hay.  A 
lucky  dog,  Yossef." 

Yossef  walked  about  with  his  head  in  the 
air. 

"  He  is  practicing  for  when  he  will  be  a 
Kotsen  (rich  man),"  said  the  Gass  scorn 
fully,  but  wrhen  they  said : 

"  Nu,  Yossef,  may  one  already  say  Ma- 
zel  Tov  (good  luck)?  "  he  only  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  smiled  mysteriously. 

Fraulein  Rosalie  returned  to  her  home  in 
the  city,  and  a  week  later  the  Gass  was 
thrown  into  a  panic  by  the  arrival  of  no 
less  a  person  than  the  famous  Shadchen 
(marriage-broker),  Reb  Dovid  Maier,  who 
repaired  straight  to  Chayim  Prager's 
house. 

"Have  you  heard?"  cried  the  people. 
"  He  has  come  to  make  the  match — ten 
thousand  gulden  cash,  so  they  say." 

They  flew  to  the  mill  to  fetch  Yossef, 
and  then  and  there,  as  he  stood,  in  his 
working  clothes,  Reb  Dovid  Maier  made 

197 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


him  an  offer  of  the  hand  of  Fraulein  Rosa 
lie  Birnbaum,  an  interest  in  her  father's 
business,  and  thirty  thousand  gulden  in 
cash. 

Thirty  thousand  gulden!  Delicate  peo 
ple  fainted  when  they  heard  it,  and  the  rest 
stood  open-mouthed,  watching  to  see  Yos- 
sef  jump  at  it.  And  what  did  Yossef  do? 
Hear,  world,  the  incredible  tale !  He  made 
a  very  grave  face  and  said : 

"  Thirty  thousand  gulden, — really — a 
nice  bit  of  money,  but  you  are  too  generous, 
Reb  Dovid,  you  offer  too  much.  Nay,  I 
am  not  so  grasping.  The  money  is  good, 
but  the  girl,  the  girl  you  can  keep."  Then 
he  banged  his  fist  on  the  table  and  laughed, 
laughed  in  Reb  Dovid  Maier's  face. 

They  had  to  revive  the  famous  Shadchen 
with  brandy,  but  Yossef,  when  next  he  was 
seen,  stood  in  Schulklopfer's  back-yard 
chopping  their  wood,  and  Channele  in  her 
faded  calico  dress  was  beside  him. 

"  Now  thou  knowest  how  it  feels  to  be 

198 


"VETTER  YOSSEF" 


jealous,  little  impudence,"  Yossef  was  say 
ing,  but  Channele  only  dug  her  small 
white  hands  into  his  hair  and  pulled  it. 
Then  they  laughed  together  as  though  life 
were  one  long  merry-making. 

Not  often  again  did  these  two  laugh  to 
gether,  for  coming  swiftly  was  that  awful 
night,  the  dawn  of  which  broke  on  a  shat 
tered  joy,  on  Channele  a  broken-hearted 
woman  and  Yossef  stricken  hopelessly 
blind. 


199 


XI 

THE  END  OF  A  ROMANCE 


XI 

THE  END  OF  A  ROMANCE 

Vetter  Yossef  was  spending  a  few  weeks 
in  the  village,  for  the  purpose  of  trying  one 
more  of  the  numerous  "  sure  cures  "  that 
were  suggested  for  his  blindness. 

This  time  the  remedy  came  from  a  peas 
ant  woman,  and  an  important  part  of  it 
consisted  in  the  blind  man's  bending  his 
sightless  gaze  upon  swarming  ant-hills. 

So  Yossef  and  Shimmele,  who  acted  as 
assistant  in  the  cure,  roved  the  fields  and 
hills  together,  Shimmele  astride  the  giant's 
shoulders,  his  sharp  eyes  eagerly  searching 
the  ground.  Yossef  would  then  lie  for 
hours  upon  the  earth,  his  face  bent  pa 
tiently  over  an  ant-hill,  whose  inhabitants 
they  had  mustered  in  full  numbers  with  a 
sprinkling  of  sugar,  while  Shimmele  roved 
the  fields  in  search  of  herbs  for  his  grand- 

203 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


mother;  or  read  aloud  a  stirring  tale,  in 
the  excitement  of  which  Yossef,  forgetting 
his  cure,  sat  upright;  or  idly  chatted,  deeply 
intent  on  the  working  of  the  cure,  asking 
now  and  then : 

"  Dost  see  already  a  little,  Vetterl?  " 

One  day,  as  they  were  walking  through 
the  Gass  on  their  way  to  the  fields,  the 
following  dialogue,  exchanged  as  quickly 
as  shots,  took  place. 

"  Hi,  Rebbe !"  squeaked  a  scornful 
voice. 

"  Hold  thy  tongue,"  growled  Shim- 
mele. 

"  Hi,  look  at  him,  a  whole  Chocham!  He 
knows  everything.  Why  need  he  go  to 
school?"  scoffed  the  other. 

"  Shut  up — red-head !  "  roared  Shim- 
mele,  then  silence  ensued;  followed  only 
by  an  eloquent  pantomime  performed  by 
the  scoffer,  which  consisted  of  twiddling  his 
outstretched  fingers  irritatingly  from  his 
nose  and  waving  one  leg  hilariously  thereto. 

204 


THE  END   OF  A   ROMANCE 

"  Tis  the  same  little  rascal  who  wanted 
to  fool  me  out  of  a  Trenderl,"  laughed  Yos- 
sef.  "  I  know  the  voice.  What  is  his 
name?" 

"  Yainkele  Eisak  Schulklopfer's." 

Yossef  stopped  short  with-  his  mouth 
open,  as  if  he  had  heard  an  astounding 
piece  of  news. 

"Yainkele  Eisak  Schulklopfer's,"  he 
echoed.  "  So  thou  knowest  him  well — 
what?" 

"  Why  should  I  not  know  him?  "  said 
Shimmele.  "  He  is  the  greatest  dunce  in 
school." 

That  day  Yossef  was  strangely  absent 
and  moody,  and  seemed  perversely  inter 
ested  in  nothing  that  Shimmele  did.  He 
read  a  charming  piece  about  the  costly 
jewels  of  the  Empress,  and  Yossef  re 
marked  irrelevantly: 

"  So  he  has  red  hair." 

"Who,"  cried  Shimmele,  "the  Emper^ 
or?" 

205 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


"  Nay,  Yainkele." 

Shimmele  tried  the  serial  novel  and 
"  with  a  cry  of  joy  Count  Rudolph  clasped 
the  Princess  in  his  arms — "  he  read,  but 
Yossef  only  said : 

"  The  blockhead  he  has  from  his  father." 

"Who,  the  Count?" 

"  Nay,  Yainkele." 

So  Shimmele  remained  silent,  quietly 
tying  together  with  grasses  little  bunches 
of  wild  sage.  It  was  trying,  but  one  of  his 
earliest  lessons  had  been  that  one  must  be 
patient  with  YossePs  moods;  he  is,  alas,  a 
stricken  creature.  Yossef,  too,  was  silent, 
it  seemed  to  Shimmele  for  a  long  time,  but 
suddenly  he  burst  forth,  almost  vehe 
mently  : 

"  Justice !  what  sort  of  thing  is  this  they 
call  justice !  Pfui!  a  human  being  would 
spit  at  such,  and  I  should  believe  it  of 
God?" 

Shimmele  stared  in  wonder  at  his  uncle's 
unaccountable  wrath. 

206 


THE   END   OF  A   ROMANCE 

"  Ai,  Vetterl,"  he  said,  for  there  was 
nothing  else  to  say. 

"Is  it  not  so?"  cried  Yossef.  "The 
people  say  that  in  my  blindness  I  am  pun 
ished  because  I  forgot  God's  command, 
what  is  written,  '  Thou  shalt  honor  thy 
father  and  thy  mother.'  ' 

"  Yes,  they  say  that." 

"  They  are  a  pack  of  fools !  Why  don't 
they  leave  God  alone?  Everything  they 
blame  on  Him.  Should  I  believe  that  be 
cause  for  one  wild  moment  I  forgot — for 
one  moment — God  would  punish  me  a 
whole  life-time?  That  is  justice?  The 
vilest  human  being  would  not  be  so  cruel, 
and  I  should  believe  it  of  God!  When  I 
was  foreman  in  the  spinning-mill,  there  was 
once  a  man  there,  an  Hungarian,  who  did 
not  understand  our  language,  and  they  tor 
mented  him,  and  he  began  a  fight,  and 
broke  a  wheel,  and  ruined  a  whole  spindle 
full  of  flax.  'This  won't  dc.'  I  said  to 
myself,  '  I  must  discharge  this  man,'  but 

207 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


when  I  bethought  me,  how  it  was  but  in  a 
moment  of  rage,  and  that  he  had  a  wife  and 
children  at  home,  I  said,  '  Nay,  that  will 
not  do  either.  Because  for  a  moment  he 
lost  his  head,  shall  his  poor  children  there 
fore  hunger? '  Nay,  I  kept  him,  as  would 
any  man  who  has  a  heart  in  his  breast. 
Shall  I  perhaps  be  better  than  is  the  Eter 
nal?  And  if  so  be  that  my  sin  deserved  a 
life-time  of  suffering,  why,  then,  did  He 
punish  also  my  mother,  who  never  in  all 
her  life  so  much  as  harmed  a  fly?  When 
I  think  of  her,  how  she  works  there  winter 
and  summer  over  her  hot  oven,  how  she 
never  complained,  not  for  one  moment, 
when  she  sold  her  linen,  her  silver,  her 
feather-beds,  one  by  one,  and  tramped 
through  the  world  with  me,  from  one  great 
doctor  to  another!  Some  said  the  trouble 
ended  with  an  ah  and  some  said  with  an 
us,  and  all  pocketed  the  money,  but  none 
helped  me.  And  this  I  should  believe  was 
the  work  of  a  just  God? 

208 


THE   END   OF  A   ROMANCE 

Who  dare  say  it  was  my  fault?  Nay,  it  was 
not,  not  wholly.  Did  I  ask  Him  perhaps 
to  put  that  feeling  for  Channele  into  my 
breast,  that  feeling  that  I  would  go 
through  fire  and  water  for  her?  I  was  so 
little  when  it  began,  I  do  not  even  remem 
ber  when.  She  was  but  a  tiny  thing  with 
her  stockings  hanging  over  her  shoes, 
when  I  used  to  save  the  raisins  out  of  my 
Bardies  for  her. 

"  I  was  a  lad  of  eighteen,  and  she  a  year 
younger,  when  we  were  betrothed.  It  was 
one  evening  when  she  was  taking  home 
three  great  loaves  from  the  bake-house.  I 
carried  them  for  her,  and  when  we  got  to 
her  door  she  said : 

'  They  are  awfully  heavy,  the  loaves, 
are  they  not?  ' 

' '  Nothing  is  heavy  when  thou  art  be 
side  me/  I  said.  Then  she  leaned  her  fore 
head  a  moment  on  my  breast,  and  said: 

"  '  I'll  always  walk  beside  thee,  Yossef— 
so  we  were  betrothed.  She  was  a  great 

209 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


beauty,  and  though  she  was  a  poor  girl,— 
her  father  had  hardly  enough  to  live  on, 
where  should  he  have  gotten  a  dowry  for 
her? — yet  there  were  many  would  gladly 
have  taken  her  to  wife,  but  she  would  have 
none  but  me." 

Yossefs  voice  had  become  very  tender; 
he  paused  here  with  his  head  bowed  in 
his  hand,  and  Shimrnele  scarcely  dared 
breathe.  Here  was  a  strange  and  entirely 
new  development  of  his  blind  uncle,  a  tale 
which  he  had  never  heard,  and  which 
promised  great  things,  if  Yossef  would  but 
tell  it  right.  He  fairly  trembled  with  the 
questions  which  struggled  to  his  lips,  but 
this  mood  of  Yossefs  was  an  untested  one, 
and  Shimmele  dared  not  speak,  lest  if  he 
said  so  much  as  ai  in  the  wrong  place, 
Yossef  should  become  suddenly  mute. 

"A  trick!"  began  Yossef  again.  "A 
fine  trick  for  a  mighty  Lord  to  test  a  man 
with,  in  a  moment  of  excitement ! 

"  In  the  night  of  the  great  fire,  when 
210 


THE   END   OF  A   ROMANCE 

we  awoke  and  found  the  whole  synagogue 
standing  in  flames,  and  my  mother  stood 
in  the  street,  her  face  like  chalk,  crying: 
'  Thy  father  is  in  that  burning  building — 
he  went  in  to  save  his  Sefer  (scroll  of  the 
Law),' — on  such  a  night,  when  everyone 
was  wild,  was  that  the  time  to  try  a  man? 

"  When  she  stood  there  before  me, 
Channele,  with  the  thick  tears  running 
down  her  cheeks  and  crying,  '  Run,  Yos- 
sef,  run,  get  my  Proches  (curtains  for  the 
ark  in  the  synagogue),  they  will  be  burnt 
entirely ' — I  could  not  help  it,  and  had  she 
told  me  to  run  into  Gehinnom  (hell),  I 
should  have  run.  'Tis  true — I  admit  it. 
My  mother  cried :  '  Stay !  for  a  rag  wilt 
thou  risk  thy  life?'  but  Channele  cried: 
'  A  rag !  Only  last  week  I  finished  those 
curtains,  two  years  I  worked  on  the  lace 
alone/ 

"  How  could  one  blame  her?  She  had 
presented  the  curtains  to  the  Schul  in  hon 
or  of  her  father's  seventieth  birthday.  She 
211 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


had  starved  herself  to  buy  the  silk.  And 
then  she  folded  her  little  hands  together 
and  cried,  '  Yossef,  Yossef,  my  Proches! ' 

"  My  mother  then  grasped  me  by  the 
arm — 'tis  true,  and  I  think  I  would  have 
remained,  but  then  Channele  shook  her 
braids  and  cried :  '  Ah,  I  know  one  whom 
I  will  not  have  to  ask  twice,  he  is  no  cow 
ard  ! '  A  coward !  So  help  me  God — that 
was  more  than  I  could  stand — I  was  wildly 
jealous  of  that  fool,  long  Eisak,  that  great, 
lumbering  idiot  with  his  handsome  face. 
If  it  was  wrong  it  was  but  for  a  moment — 
I  forgave  that  Hungarian  spinner — but  the 
Lord — can  I  believe  that  He  would  not  for 
give!" 

Shimmele  gasped.  He  realized  that  he 
now  had  heard,  vaguely  but  surely,  the 
mysterious  tale  of  his  uncle's  blindness. 

"From  that  day  thou  wast  blind/'  he 
ventured  breathlessly. 

"  Yes,  when  the  fire  was  out,  they  found 

us  in  the  ruins,  my  father  dead,  with  his 
212 


THE  END   OF  A   ROMANCE 

Sefer  clasped  in  his  arms,  and  I — I  was 
blind." 

"  And  was  perhaps  not  Channele  pun 
ished?"  began  Yossef  after  a  pause,  more 
tenderly.  "  My  mother,  who  usually  has 
a  heart  as  tender  as  a  child's,  drove  her 
from  our  door  like  a  dog.  Then  she  would 
weep  under  my  window  in  the  night,  and 
whisper  through  the  shutters :  '  I'll  marry 
thee  anyhow,  Yossef,  my  heart.  I'll  work 
for  us  both. — I'll  make  lace. — I'll  work  my 
fingers  to  the  bone. — I'll  sell  my  outfit  and 
pay  a  great  doctor  that  he  make  thee  again 
to  see. — I'll  marry  none  but  thee,  Yossef, 
my  joy/ 

"  It  was  not  till  years  after,  when  her 
father  was  dead,  and  she  had  not  bread  to 
eat,  and  I  was  a  living  clod,  who  ate  of  my 
brother's  bounty,  that  she  at  last  married 
long  Eisak.  Even  then  the  fool  could  not 
have  supported  her,  if  the  people,  out  of 
pity,  had  not  given  him  Reb  Yainkev's 
place 

213 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


"  Nay — nay — that  was  not  the  work  of 
the  Lord — He  had  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
Dost  remember,  Shimmele,  how  thou  didst 
read  that  all  those  little  specks  in  the  sky 
that  look  like  a  floorful  of  glass  splinters, 
how  every  one  is  a  great  world,  bigger 
than  this  one?  Ai,  the  Lord  has  enough 
to  do  to  look  after  them  all.  I'm  thinking, 
it  is  when  the  Lord's  back  is  turned  that 
the  great  calamities  happen  on  earth. 
Perhaps  when  He  looked  down  on  earth, 
and  saw  that  I  had  gone  blind,  and  that 
my  father  was  dead,  and  Channele  weeping 
her  eyes  out,  day  and  night,  and  saw  the 
awful  grief  of  my  mother,  I  think  He  must 
have  wept  Himself  when  he  saw  it.  It 
was  a  mighty  woe." 

Yossef  spoke  no  more.  He  seemed  lost 
in  deep  revery,  which  Shimmele  feared  to 
disturb  with  questions  as  to  those  myste 
rious  persons,  long  Eisak  and  the  beautiful 
Channele. 

"  There  used  to  be  a  little  sunny  bench 

214 


THE   END   OF  A   ROMANCE 

in  the  synagogue  yard,  right  opposite  the 
windows  of  the  Schulklopfer's  house,"  be 
gan  Yossef  after  a  while.  "  Is  it  still 
there?" 

"  Who  should  have  taken  it  away? " 
laughed  Shimmele. 

"  Dost  know,"  said  Yossef  hesitatingly, 
while  a  light  flush  spread  over  his  face,  ''  I 
have  a  mind  I  should  like  to  sit  once 
again  on  that  little  sunny  bench  in  the 
synagogue  yard.  It  was  my  favorite  spot 
where  to  spend  the  Sabbath  afternoon." 

Shimmele  bundled  together  his  herbs, 
books,  and  papers,  and,  taking  Yossef's 
hand,  led  him  briskly  on,  until  they  were 
seated  side  by  side  in  the  synagogue  yard. 

Yossef  seemed  to  palpitate  with  a 
strange,  subdued  excitement.  He  strained 
his  eyes  wide  in  the  sunlight. 

"  To  the  right  was  the  back  of  RerJ  Ge- 
dalye's  house;  to  the  left  the  Shemothdusel 
(where  torn  Hebrew  books  and  pages  are 
kept),"  half-whispered  Yossef,  "and  just 

215 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


opposite  one  looked  into  Schulklopfer's 
window.  On  week-day  afternoons  she 
used  to  sit  there  making  lace  in  a  pillow, 
and  her  fingers  flew  like  little  white  pigeons 
about  it." 

"  Vetterl,"  cried  Shimmele,  "  surely 
thou  canst  see !  It  is  as  thou  sayest.  She 
is  sitting  at  the  window  making  lace  on  a 
pillow,  and  her  fingers  fly  about  like  little 
birds,  just  as  thou  sayest." 

Two  bright  spots  glowed  on  Yossef's 
cheeks.  He  strained  his  sightless  eyes  to 
wards  the  house.  Shimmele  had  drawn 
close  to  him  that  he  might  hear  his  half- 
whispered  questions,  and  he  felt  the  heavy 
beating  of  the  blind  man's  heart. 

"  Look  again,"  breathed  Yossef,  "  canst 
see  her  cheek?  Red  and  round,  and  on  the 
left  one,  just  where  it  is  reddest,  is  a  little 
brown  mole,  like  a  tiny  lentil." 

"  I  see  it,"  whispered  Shimmele,  ex 
citedly,  "  the  little  brown  mole." 

"  Th£  nose  is  short — it  draws  the  lip  up- 

216 


THE  END   OF  A   ROMANCE 

ward — like  a  folded  rose-leaf,  and  two  little 
white  mice-teeth — like  pearls — peep  out." 

"  I  see  them — I  see  them — the  little 
white  teeth ! " 

"And  her  hair, — red-head  they  called 
her — but  it  is  brown  like  ripe  chestnuts, — 
only  when  the  sun  is  upon  it,  it  shines  like 
polished  gold,  but  that,"  he  said  with  a 
sigh,  "  thou  canst  not  see.  She  is  a  pious 
woman  and  wears  a  cap." 

"  Why  can  I  not  see  it !  "  cried  Shim 
mele.  "  It  is  as  thou  sayest.  The  sun  is 
shining  on  her  braids,  and  they  shine  like 
polished  gold." 

Shimmele  suddenly  felt  himself  pulled 
roughly  by  the  arm,  and  Yossef  cried : 

"  Art  having  thy  sport  with  me,  or — art 
lying?  It  were  the  first  time  in  thy  life, 
Shimmele!" 

Shimmele  paled  with  amazement  and 
deep  indignation. 

1  Among  orthodox  Jews  married  women  wear  their 

hair  covered. 

217 


IDYLS  OF   THE   GASS 


"  I  was  not  lying,"  he  replied  warmly. 
"  Everything  is  as  thou  hast  said  it." 

Slowly  a  strange,  troubled  look  crept 
into  Yossef's  face. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  *'  are  we  sitting  on 
the  sunny  bench  opposite  Schulklopfer's 
window?" 

"Where  else?" 

"  Who  is  at  the  window?  " 

"But,  Vetterl,  have  I  not  said  it  all 
the  time?  It  is  Vogele,  Yainkele's 
sister." 

"His  sister"  faltered  Yossef.  "I 
thought  it  was — his  mother." 

"  O,  his  mother,"  laughed  Shimmele. 
"  Nay,  that  is  not  his  mother,  she  is  within, 
by  the  table.  No,  her  hair  I  cannot  see- 
she  wears  a  big  cap." 

'  Then  she  no  longer  sits  by  the  window 
making  lace  on  a  pillow." 

"  She  is  patching  Yainkele's  breeches." 

Yossef  paused. 

"  The  little  brown  mole,  just  where  the 

218 


THE   END   OF  A   ROMANCE 

cheek  is  reddest — thou  canst  not  see  it — 
as  thou  sayest — she  is  within — 

"  Why  can  I  not  see  it ! — She  is  looking 
at  us  and  nodding, — I  see  it  very  well.  It 
is  a  big  mole,  but  her  cheek  is  not  red — 
no — it  is  white  and  thin." 

"The  little  white  teeth — the  rosy 
lips—" 

"  She  has  turned  away — I  cannot  see; — 
I  believe — yes,  Vetterl — she  is  weeping." 

Yossef  sat  so  silent  and  still  that  Shim- 
mele  looked  to  see  whether  he  had  fallen 
asleep;  he  was  awake,  but  he  looked  pale 
and  shrunken,  and  Shimmele  thought  he 
had  never  before  seemed  so  old. 

"Art  cold,  Vetterl?"  he  asked  at  sight 
of  the  blind  man's  colorless  face. 

"Yes,  cold,"  said  Yossef  wearily.  "It 
seems  the  sun  is  gone  already.  Come 
away  home." 

They  wandered  home  silently,  this 
strange  pair,  and  Yossef  forgot  to  step 
bravely  through  the  Gass,  and  swing  his 

219 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


stick  airily,  but  suffered  Shimmele  to  lead 
him,  like  a  child,  by  the  hand. 

They  found  that  Maryam  had  not  yet  re 
turned  from  a  long  day  at  a  country  wed 
ding,  so  Shimmele  lit  the  fire,  and  set  on 
the  kettle  to  boil;  then  he  took  his  prayer- 
book,  and  joined  Yossef  out  on  the  wood 
pile. 

Yossef  persisted  in  his  silence,  breaking 
it  only  once  to  say,  almost  roughly : 

"  Thou  needest  say  nothing  about  that 
we  sat  in  the  synagogue  yard." 

Shimmele  began  to  read  his  evening 
prayers,  but  his  mind  was  not  with  them. 
It  was  busily  striving  to  solve  the  mystery 
of  the  afternoon's  happenings.  Like  the 
scattered  beads  of  a  necklace  Yossefs 
strange  talk  and  more  strange  behavior 
lay  in  his  mind;  he  felt  that  they  belonged 
together,  but  he  could  not  find  the  thread 
upon  which  to  string  them  to  a  whole. 

The  gray,   cool  twilight   stole  into  the 

Gass,  and  Shimmele  ventured  to  suggest 
220 


THE  END   OF  A   ROMANCE 

that  it  was  time  to  go  in,  but  Yossef  did 
not  move. 

"  Men  are  like  years,"  he  began  slowly, 
half  murmuring  as  if  to  himself.  "  Some 
are  fruitful  and  joyous;  some  are  empty 
and  sorrowful;  some  end  in  a  happy  com 
fortable  winter  and  some  in — a  famine." 

Shimmele  sighed,  for  life  was  very  dull 
when  Yossef  philosophized. 

"  The  great  danger  is  in  the  summer," 
pursued  Yossef.  "  I  have  seen  years 
whose  spring  was  dead  and  cold, — it 
seemed  hopeless, — yet  a  week  of  sunshine 
and  all  was  well  again;  but  in  the  summer, 
a  single  hail-storm  and  the  rich  fields  lie 
dead  and  broken.  So  with  man.  The 
spring  of  his  life  may  seem  hopeless — it  is 
like  the  tears  of  a  child;  but  when  in  the 
summer  of  his  life  there  is  a  woman  for 
whose  sake  he  would  give  up  home  and 
country,  would  leave  father,  mother,  bro 
thers,  sisters — " 

At  last  Shimmele  understood.     He  laid 
221 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


his  little  soft  hand  on  Yossef's  large  rough 
one. 

"  I  know,  Vetterl,"  he  said  sympathetic 
ally,  "  thou  meanest  his  granny." 

Yossef  threw  back  his  head  and  uttered 
a  wild  laugh;  then  he  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

Shimmele  looked  up  at  the  strange 
noises  he  was  making,  and  saw  in  amaze 
ment  that  tears  were  trickling  out  between 
the  large  rough  fingers. 

Was  Yossef  laughing?  Was  he  weep 
ing?  He  did  not  know. 

It  was  many  years  after,  when  first  the 
light  in  a  maiden's  eye  set  his  heart 
a-bounding,  that  Shimmele  knew. 


222 


XII 
WHY  SHIMMELE  NEVER  PLAYED 


XII 
WHY  SHIMMELE  NEVER  PLAYED 

A  superficial  observer  might  remark 
carelessly  it  was  because  he  had  no  time. 
"  Indeed,  what  child  in  the  Gass  has  time 
for  play? "  says  he.  "  There  are  few  so 
young  and  weak  there  who  must  not  run 
with  the  grown-up  in  the  fierce  race  for 
bread,  and  little  fingers  which  cannot  yet 
wield  the  broom  already  ply  the  knitting- 
needles." 

Take  a  day  in  Shimmele's  life.  Up  be 
fore  dawn  and  at  prayers;  breakfast,  then 
running  Maryam's  errands;  and  then 
pounding  sugar,  which  is  a  slow,  laborious 
process,  the  sugar  being  hard  and  Shim 
mele's  arms  small  and  weak;  then  syna 
gogue;  school  until  noon;  dinner  in  haste, 
for  there  are  dishes  to  wash  and  pans  to 
scrape;  school  again,  with  an  interval  for 
synagogue;  supper;  a  chat  or  story  in  the 

225 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


dark  with  Maryam  over  her  knitting; 
night-prayers,  and  to  bed. 

Where,  then,  is  there  time  for  play? 
Nonsense !  Is  play,  then,  a  matter  of  sucri 
narrow  limitations  as  time? 

There  are  a  hundred  games,  the  best  in 
the  world,  with  nuts  or  tops  or  balls;  and 
beautiful  quiet  ones  for  the  girls,  who  dare 
not  shout  and  romp  (it  is  not  proper  for 
little  Jewish  maidens),  where  you  stamp 
your  foot  and  clap  your  hands  and  turn 
about  as  in  a  dance,  all  of  which  are  played 
while  you  are  going  to  or  coming  from 
school. 

There  is  a  splendid  game,  which  in  our 
language  might  be  called  "  shinny,"  and 
which  is  played  with  a  pebble  and  a 
crooked  stick  (a  little  brother  to  golf), 
while  you  are  going  to  the  pump  for  a  pail 
of  water. 

No  time,  indeed!  I  know  a  lovely 
game  that  can  be  played  while  you  are 
parting  your  hair  at  the  glass.  This  is 

226 


WHY   SHIMMELE  NEVER   PLAYED 

another,  a  better  has  never  been  invented, 
and  you  play  it  at  table,  in  the  time  it 
takes  the  grown-ups  to  sip  half  a  cup  of 
tea.  You  eat  the  crumb  of  your  slice  of 
bread,  when  lo !  the  round  crust  is  a  magic 
ring  with  which  you  can  wish  anything  in 
the  universe.  You'd  like  a  train  of  magic 
steam-cars?  Very  well;  one  bite — two 
bites,  out  of  the  ring,  and  there  you  are,  all 
ready,  with  a  beautiful,  tall  smoke-stack 
to  the  engine,  and — choo-choo-choo  away 
you  go,  to  that  glorious  land  to  which 
never  a  school-master  has  found  the  way; 
that  wonderful  land  where  the  brooks  flow 
honey,  and  the  trees  bear  gingerbread 
men,  and  where,  as  is  well  established  in 
fairy  lore,  roast  pigeons  fly  about  in  the 
air;  you  have  but  to  open  your  mouth  and 
in  one  pops. 

Here  is  still  a  better.  It  is  played  after 
school  hours  when  she,  in  other  words 
Aunt  Lina,  makes  you  sit  in  the  kitchen 
hemming  some  horrid  old  towels  which — 

227 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


let  me  whisper  it — are  not  towels  at  all,  but 
a  shroud  upon  which  you  have  vowed  you 
will  stitch,  sitting  there  the  while  at  your 
turret  window,  until  he  shall  return  and 
free  you  from  your  prison  and  this  evil  en 
chantment.  You  scan  the  far  horizon. 
Ah,  the  weary,  weary  hours.  Will  he 
never  come?  Below  looms  the  high, 
formidable  castle  wall.  Her  wicked  magic 
makes  it  appear  but  a  coal-shed.  Yonder 
the  moat — the  gutter  it  but  seems.  But 
now,  even  now,  there  is  a  sound  of  foot 
steps.  A  voice — his  voice !  He  bursts 
into  the  door.  It  is  he!  Perhaps  he 
blows  and  sniffs  and  cries : 

"  Gee,  golly,  sausage  for  supper !  " 
Perhaps  he  appears  to  be  only  your  bro 
ther.     Bah,  you  know  the  source  of  that 
cruel  delusion.     You  know  that  he  is  really 
Prince  Charming,  and  what  he  really  says  is  : 
"  All  hail,   fair  and   gracious   Lady !     I 
with  my  faithful   followers   have  stormed 
the   castle  walls.     The  wicked  witch  lies 

228 


WHY  SHIMMELE  NEVER  PLAYED 

weltering    in    her    blood.      Up,    fiddlers! 
On  to  the  feast !  "  etc.,  etc. 

0  it's  lovely,  possessing  among  count 
less    delights    and    possibilities    the    chief 
charm  of  rigmarole,  in  that  it  can  be  carried 
on  indefinitely;  indeed,  I  do  not  know  that 
it  has  any  end. 

But  Shimmele  knew  nothing  of  fairy 
magic  or  deeds  of  chivalry.  He  might 
have  stood  his  bread-crust  on  end,  when  it 
is  the  smithy-door,  and  through  it  you 
drive  spoons  and  forks — whoa  there, 
Tom! — all  waiting  to  be  shod;  or  he  might 
have  made  his  bread  into  a  hoop  and  trun 
dled  it  over  the  table — both  splendid 
games  and  simple,  requiring  little  imagi 
nation — had  he  been  younger.  And  here, 
at  last,  is  the  real  reason  why  Shimmele 
never  played. 

Yes,  Shimmele  was  too  old.  A  child 
of  six  or  seven  you  say?  As  if  age  had 
anything  to  do  with  years. 

1  know  a  little  girl  of     ten  who  keeps 

229 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


house  for  a  large  family;  who  knows  all  the 
remedies  for  infantile  disease  in  the  alma 
nac,  and  who  writes  letters  to  her  father  in 
State's  prison  thus :  "  Now,  darling  Papa, 
I  hope  you  will  behave  yourself  when  you 
get  out  this  time.  When  you  feel  that 
you  are  going  to  be  bad,  pray,  Our  Father, 
and  lead  us  not  into  temptation." 

How  old  would  you  call  her  counting  by 
years? 

Yes,  Shimmele  was  too  old  to  play. 
When  other  children  were  at  their  games, 
he  pondered  gravely  upon  the  serious  ques 
tion  of  rent-money,  or  he  and  his  grand 
mother  laid  their  heads  together,  like  a 
pair  of  old  cronies,  busily  reckoning  by 
what  means  and  schemes  and  devices  they 
might  lay  by  a  little  each  day,  and  how 
long  it  would  take  to  save  enough  money 
to  send  Vetter  Yossef  to  England,  where 
report  had  it  there  lived  a  doctor  more 
clever  than  all  the  rest,  one  who  would 
surely  cure  blind  Yossef  s  eyes. 

230 


WHY  SHIMMELE  NEVER  PLAYED 

Alas  for  Shimmele  unlearned  in  fairy 
classics !  What  a  fine  game  it  would  have 
been  to  own  the  goose  that  laid  golden 
eggs;  then  off  to  market  with  a  dozen,  and 
back  again  jingling  a  pocketful  of  money. 
A i,  to  slap  down  a  gold-piece  on  the  coach 
house  table,  crying  grandly: 

"  Three  seats  in  the  coach  that  goes  to 
England,  past  the  house  of  the  doctor  who 
cures  blind  men's  eyes !  " 

There  were  times,  during  the  weeks  pre 
ceding  quarter-day,  when  Maryam's  laugh 
ter,  which  came  readily  and  often,  would 
subside  midway  and  end  in  a  sigh.  Then 
she  would  open  the  great  Kist,  and  draw 
from  under  the  linen  the  little  gray  bag 
containing  the  rent-money.  Shimmele 
watched  anxiously,  and  a  dull,  gnawing 
ache,  whose  name  was  Care,  though  he  did 
not  yet  know  it,  crept  into  his  heart;  for 
the  rent-money  meant  a  full  bag,  and 
Maryam,  loosening  the  string,  disclosed  a 
great  ebb  therein. 

231 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


Maryam,  who  would  have  starved  rather 
than  dun  a  debtor,  would  say  in  troubled 
tones : 

"  If  Hirsh  Randar,  or  Nossen  Langer," 
as  the  case  might  be,  "  would  pay  me  for 
those  cakes  before  quarter-day,  and  we 
were  a  little  economical,  I  think  there 
would  be  enough." 

"  Why  dost  pay  the  Goyah  (Gentile  wo 
man)  for  carrying  wood?  "  cried  Shimmele 
once,  full  of  a  great  idea.  "  I  can  do  it — 
I  am  strong.  Look,  Babele,"  and  he  lifted 
an  end  of  the  wooden  settle,  growing  red 
with  exertion  and  with  boasting. 

"  That's  no  work  for  thee,"  said  Maryam. 
"  A  Bochur,  one  who  is  to  be  a  rabbi !  " 

But  ten  kreuzer  saved  is  ten  kreuzer 
saved.  So  Shimmele  carried  the  wood. 

On  a  day  of  that  bitter  winter — the 
"  hunger-year  "  they  called  it — Maryam 
said,  looking  wistful: 

"  There  was  a  great  doctor  in  Prague 
who  always  said  it  is  very  unhealthy  to  eat 

232 


WHY   SHIMMELE  NEVER   PLAYED 

much  meat.  Once  a  week  is  enough  for 
anyone,  he  said." 

Shimmele  looked  thoughtful. 

"  Yes,  I  think  roast  meat  with  thick 
gravy  and  a  little  onion  in  it  is  very  un 
healthy,"  he  said.  "  Smoked  sausage  is 
much  better." 

"  Smoked  sausage !  Who  would  eat 
smoked  sausage  on  a  week-day!  I  like 
nothing  so  well  as  a  potato  and  a  piece  of 
plain  black  bread." 

"  Ai,  I  like  black  bread,"  said  Shimmele 
feebly. 

"  Well,  if  thou  wishest,"  now  cried  Mar- 
yam  in  an  injured  tone,  "  we  can  buy  dain 
ties  with  the  money  we  lay  aside  that  thy 
blind  Vetter  may  be  made  again  to  see." 

"  He  will  surely  be  made  again  to  see. 
As  I  live,  Babele, — I  love  black  bread- 
better  than — than — plum-dumplings." 

In  that  long,  hard  winter,  when  wood 
was  as  precious  as  food,  and  eggs  were  not 
at  all,  Shimmele  learnt  the  bitterness  of 

233 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


borrowing,  learnt  the  gladness  of  a  penny 
laid  by  against  the  burden  of  debt.  That 
was  the  winter  when  Maryam  stood  until 
late  in  the  night  at  her  baking-board,  mak 
ing  her  famous,  untranslatable  Garglech, 
which  euphonious  expression  might  mean 
little  gullets  or  little  windpipes,  and  are, 
indeed,  tiny  pipes,  like  miniature  spaghetti, 
each  one  rolled  laboriously  on  a  knitting 
needle.  Although  they  are  so  trouble 
some  in  the  making,  and  bring  but  little 
money,  Maryam  worked  at  them  patiently, 
for  they  always  find  a  ready  sale  in  the  city. 
Indeed,  has  anyone  ever  heard  of  wedding 
soup  without  Gargleckf  It  were  like  a 
benediction  without  the  Amen. 

In  those  days  Shimmele  viewed  the  gos 
sip  and  the  happenings  of  the  Gass  in  a 
new  light;  his  eye  was  all  to  business. 
Approaching  birthdays  of  growing  boys 
were  matters  of  keen  note;  Bar  Mitzvahs* 

1  The  religious  majority  of  boys  at  the  age  of  thir 
teen,  usually  a  family  festival. 
234 


WHY  SHIMMELE  NEVER  PLAYED 

were  his  quest.  The  sight  of  a  youth  and 
maiden  chatting  at  the  pump  set  him  drub 
bing  his  feet  delightedly;  'twas  a  wedding 
that  he  scented. 

He  would  rush  into  the  house  with  a 
juicy  bit,  still  hot  from  the  tongues  of  the 
gossips  : 

"  Guess  what !  Reb  Itzig  Melammed  is 
going  to  get  married." 

"No-,  really, — to  whom?" 

"  He  does  not  know  yet  whether  fie  will 
take  Sorl  Reb  Shlome  Edelstein's  or  Veil- 
die  Lederer's.  Dost  think  we'll  Have  the 
making  of  the  tarts?"  or: 

"  Hand  down  the  sugar-loaf,  Babele. 
I'll  pound  sugar.  They'll  be  wanting  a 
sixty  kreuzer  tart,  I  think." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  At  Mindel  Pessel's  they  have  ordered 
the  stork.  Yentele  said  it.  He  is  ex 
pected  any  day." 

On  a  bitter  day  Maryam  found  Shim- 

235 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


mele  at  the  window  rubbing  his  hands  v:  /- 
orously  and  then  clapping  them  over  his 
ears. 

"It's  the  way,"  he  explained,  "that 
Pawel,  the  driver,  warms  his  ears.  Per 
haps  Reb  Noach  will  not  sell  it  this  year — 
what?  " 

"What,  Shimmele?" 

"The  little  cloth  cap  with  the  Sand  of 
hare-skin  around  it  and  the  woolly  ear- 
flaps.  We  can  buy  it  next  year,  and  the 
fifty  kreuzer  we  can  now  lay  to  Vetter 
Yossef's  eye-money,"  and  he  who  knows 
not  that  the  little  cloth  cap  was  the  goal  of 
Shimmele's  eager  aspirations,  all  through 
a  long,  long  year,  knows  not  the  measure 
of  the  sacrifice. 

Maryam's  heart  rose  high  with  pride  and 
joy  at  Shimmele's  willing  sacrifice,  and  yet 
it  ached  apprehensively. 

"  It  is  not  natural,"  she  mused,  "  such  a 
young  child — a  wonder-child.  God  in 
Heaven,  give  him  life  and  health,"  prayed 

236 


WHY  SHIMMELE  NEVER  PLAYED 

Maryam  in  her  innermost  soul.  :  'Tis  said 
they  often  die  young." 

"  But  thy  shawl,  Babele,"  continued 
Shimmele  pleadingly.  "  I  need  not  wear 
it  around  my  head  any  more  neither,  that 
horrid  shawl." 

O  that  shawl !  It  was  the  heaviest  bur 
den  of  the  winter;  for  did  not  the  big  boys 
jeer  at  it,  and  did  not  Yainkele,  the  arch 
enemy,  call  him  "  girlie-boy,"  and  was  it 
not  absurdly  unfit  with  the  dignity  of  his 
years? 

"  O  thou  must  wear  that  shawl,"  said 
Maryam.  "  Thou  mightest,  God  forbid, 
get  sick  without  it." 

"No,  no,"  begged  Shimmele.  "I'll 
warm  my  ears  as  does  Pawel,  the 
driver." 

"  Don't  be  stupid,  child;  thou'lt  freeze 
thy  ears." 

"  No,  I  don't  want  the  shawl !  " 

"  Thou'lt  take  thy  death  of  cold." 

"  Well,  I  won't  wear  the  shawl !  " 

237 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


"What  kind  of  new  fashion  is  this — I 
don't  want — I  won't?" 

The  argument  waxed  hot  and  ended 
Shimmele  triumphant,  kicking  out  his  fat 
legs  and  roaring : 

"  I  wont — I  wont — I  wont !  " 

But  he  who  fancies  her  wringing  her 
hands  and  sighing  disconsolately  at  the 
sight  of  her  wonder-child's  lapses  knows 
not  Maryam. 

No,  she  clicked  her  needles  in  great  com 
fort,  and  sat  twinkling  merrily. 

"  Thank  God,"  she  laughed,  "  the  child 
is  in  good  health—the  child  will  live." 


238 


XIII 
TEARS 


XIII 
TEARS 

"  Tate  Leben  (daddy  dear),  does  anything 
hurt  thee? " 

"  Nay,  Shimmele." 

"  Is  my  mother  or  anyone  sick?  " 

"  Thank  God,  tKey  are  all  well." 

"  Breindel  and  the  mooly  calf  and  the 
sheep?" 

"  They  are  as  usual." 

"  Have  the  potatoes  the  dry  rot?  " 

"Nay;  why,  then?" 

"  We  have  a  basket  of  red  apples  and  a 
large  dish  of  poppy-seed  buns  in  the  cup 
board." 

"  Yes,  I  have  seen  them." 

"Then  why,  O  why  dost  weep,  Tate?" 

Reb  Shlome  stared  absently  at  Shim 
mele,  then  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  said: 

"Why  should  I  not  weep?" 

241 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


Shimmele's  mind  stood  still  at  another 
mystery.  The  happy  season  of  the  great 
Festivals  was  at  hand.  Reb  Shlome  had 
come  to  spend  a  few  weeks  in  the  village 
that  he  might  enjoy  the  great  privilege  of 
public  worship  during  the  holy  days. 
There  were  good  things  to  eat  in  almost 
every  house;  the  whole  Gass  fairly  creaked 
with  new  boots  and  starched  petticoats. 
Everything  was  fine  and  festive,  and  yet 
Reb  Shlome  wept. 

Shimmele  questioned  his  grandmother 
in  vain. 

"  Thy  father  has  a  tender  heart,"  was 
all  she  said,  but  this  conveyed  nothing, 
and  Shimmele  wondered  and  pondered, 
and  began  to  observe  his  father  as  a 
new  discovery.  Yet  greater  knowledge 
and  powers  than  Shimmele's  had  failed 
to  fathom  this  strangely  melancholy  na 
ture.  It  was  known  of  him  that  he  never 
sat  down  to  eat  without  first  reciting 
that  mournful  psalm  which  begins :  "  At 

242 


TEARS 

the  rivers  of  Babylon  we  sat  down  and 
wept."  And  his  reason,  explained  to 
Shimmele,  was  "  that  we  may  not  forget 
that  we  are  in  exile." 

The  knowledge  of  deep  sorrow  left  him 
dry-eyed  and  dumb,  but  the  sight  of  a 
hungry  swallow  foraging  for  her  young 
filled  his  eyes  with  quick  tears.  When,  in 
the  frequent  flood-times,  he  went  collect 
ing  for  the  sufferers,  a  rebuff  from  a  rich 
man  sent  him  off  with  a  tolerant  shrug,  but 
when  a  poor  widow  gave  him  a  handful  of 
meal,  his  tears  fell  openly. 

Reb  Shlome's  life  was  a  constant  strug 
gle.  From  year's  end  to  year's  end  he 
fought  to  wrench  from  his  few  acres,  which 
the  law  did  not  allow  him  as  a  Jew  to  own, 
the  heavy  treasure  of  lease  money.  When 
the  seed  was  in  the  ground,  he  said,  "  But 
will  there  be  rain  for  the  sprouts?  f'  When 
the  sprouts  peeped,  crisp  and  green,  he 
cried,  "  Alas,  there  may  not  be  sun  for  the 
grain."  When  the  grain  stood  nodding 

243 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


with  fulness,  it  was,  "  God  defend,  what  if 
there  come  hail,"  and  when  at  last  the  har 
vest  lay  secure  in  the  barns,  he  could  not 
sleep  for  fear  of  fire. 

"  Soil  ich  leben"  cried  the  lighter-hearted 
Frau  Perl,  "  when  he  has  no  troubles,  he 
makes  some !  " 

This  strange  nature  now  arrested  Shim- 
mele's  attention,  and  in  observing  it  he 
made  many  new  discoveries,  for  Reb 
Shlome  did  not  always  weep;  no,  he  often 
laughed;  indeed,  he  loved  a  good  joke,  but 
wonder  of  wonders,  so  close  to  each  other 
lay  the  fountains  of  sorrow  and  mirth  that 
when  Reb  Shlome  laughed,  he  laughed 
tears. 

Shimmele  soon  made  the  observation 
that  though  the  Gass  as  a  whole  laughed  a 
great  deal,  it  also  wept  much,  and,  "  It  is 
at  funerals  and  on  fast  days  that  one 
weeps,"  he  decided  one  day,  but  the  next, 
"  One  weeps  also  over  new-born  children 
and  at  weddings."  O  the  mystery  of  it! 

244 


TEARS 

To  weep  over  a  little  crowing  babe!  But 
the  only  explanation  father  offered  was: 
"  It  is  true,  what  is  written,  that  the  day 
of  death  is  better  than  the  day  of 
birth.'5 

Shimmele  questioned  everyone;  among 
others  Muhme  Shmune,  who  should  have 
been  an  excellent  authority  on  the  source 
of  tears,  for  she  wept  constantly,  frequent 
ing  with  melancholy  pleasure  all  places  and 
occasions  that  promised  tears. 

"  Why  do  I  weep?  "  replied  she  to  Shim 
mele,  lifting  her  red,  swollen  eyes.  "  May- 
est  thou  never  know  them,  Yungel, — I 
weep  over  my  sorrows." 

On  the  Day  of  Atonement  Shimmele 
thought  for  a  moment  that  the  great  mys 
tery  was  about  to  be  solved. 

In  the  synagogue  he  happened  to  stand 
next  to  Simche  Silversmith,  a  notoriously 
stingy  man,  who  sat  in  a  corner  weeping 
bitterly.  To  him  came  Nossen,  the  wine- 
seller,  a  wicked  wag,  and  said: 

245 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


"  What's  the  matter,  Simche,  why  art 
weeping  so  terribly?  " 

Shimmele  pricked  up  his  ears  and  held 
his  breath. 

"  Dost  not  see,"  came  Simche's  weeping 
reply,  ft  what  here  is  written,  '  Dust  thou 
art,  to  dust  thou  wilt  return  '?  " 

" Nu"  said  Nossen,  "  is  that  a  reason  for 
tears — what  dost  lose  by  it?  If  it  said, 
'  Gold  thou  art,  to  dust  thou  turnest,'  thou 
wouldst  lose  a  hundred  per  cent,  but  this 
way—" 

Nossen  grinned,  and  Shimmele  thought, 
"  The  man  is  right — that  is  no  reason  for 
tears." 

No,  he  could  not  fathom  it.  Alas  for 
Shimmele!  It  was  not  long  before  life 
answered  him  most  effectually,  and  he 
questioned  no  longer,  "  Why  do  the  people 
weep?" 

The  year  had  been  a  bad  one;  spring 
floods  had  washed  away  the  autumn  sow- 

246 


TEARS 

ing;  the  summer  had  been  cold  and  wet, 
and  gaunt  famine  stared  the  country  in  the 
face.  What  little  wind  and  weather  had 
left  the  land,  wicked  misrule  wrenched 
away  pitilessly. 

When  the  farmer  has  no  money,  the  Jew 
can  do*  no  business,  and  the  poor  peddlers 
and  small  merchants  returned  haggard  and 
weary  from  their  useless  journeys. 

But  the  people  of  the  Gass  are  provident. 
When  there  are  no  earnings,  there  is  dowry 
and  burial  money  to  eat,  and  those  that 
have,  share  with  their  poorer  brethren. 

Not  so  the  Gentile  farmers  and  laborers 
of  the  province.  They  sat  in  the  taverns 
discussing  the  nature  of  the  hard  times, 
and  washing  away  their  cares  with  plenti 
ful  flow  of  bad  whiskey.  At  first  it  was 
the  bad  weather,  then  the  wrath  of  God, 
then  the  government,  but  quickly,  myste 
riously,  as  if  by  magic,  there  appeared  agi 
tators  in  the  land,  who  stood  in  the  tav 
erns  haranguing  the  crowds.  They  it  was 

247 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


who  told  the  people  what  is  the  real  source 
of  the  evil;  they  found  a  scapegoat  for 
Maritz,  the  same  that  had  been  found  in 
every  time  and  place  for  centuries,  and,  as 
heretofore,  so  now  its  name  was — the  Jew. 

"  Where  is  the  money? "  cried  these. 
"  Has  it  melted  like  snow,  or  run  away  like 
water?  No,  it  is  still  in  the  world,  and 
who  has  got  it?  The  Jews!  Why  do  the 
farmers  hunger?  Why  do  the  merchants 
complain?  Because  the  Jews  have  all  the 
money.  They  bring  you  bad  wares  into 
your  house,  and  take  away  your  good 
money,  and  now  you  starve,  and  they  sit 
warm  on  their  full  money-bags.  Has  any 
one  of  you  ever  seen  a  Jewish  beggar  at 
your  door?  " 

"  By  Heaven,  no ! "  cried  the  foolish 
people,  who  saw  this  point.  "  The  Jews 
never  go  a-begging." 

And  it  was  true,  there  were  no  Jewish 
beggars  to  be  seen  in  Maritz.  When  the 
poor  reached  the  end  of  their  means,  there 

248 


TEARS 


was  the  congregational  poor-fund,  which 
Reb  Noach,  Frau  Malka,  and  others  had 
greatly  swelled  during  the  hard  times,  to 
draw  from.  None  dropped  so  low  as  to 
beg  from  a  Gentile,  and  if  he  had,  it  would 
have  been  vain,  for  his  religion  forbade  him 
to  eat  the  bread  from  the  Christian's  table. 

On  a  day  in  Christmas  week  there  ap 
peared  a  Jesuit  revivalist  in  Maritz,  who 
preached  eloquently  in  the  church  on  the 
passion  and  death  of  Jesus  Christ. 

On  the  following  Sabbath,  when  the 
Shabbas-Goyah1  with  her  son  appeared  as 
usual  in  Maryam's  house,  Shimmele  gave 
Bomul,  whom  he  counted  his  friend,  a 
piece  of  his  Bardies  (Sabbath  bread),  as 
had  always  been  his  habit.  Bomul  took 
the  bread,  but  turned  his  back  roughly,  and 
would  not  speak  to  Shimmele. 

1  The  Sabbath  fire-woman,  a  Gentile,  who  tends  the 
fires  and  lights  of  the  Jews,  as  these  are  not  permitted 
to  touch  either  on  the  Sabbath. 
249 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


"What  ails  thee,  Bomul?"  cried  Shim 
mele. 

"  Go !  Thou  hast  killed  God,  Jesus 
Christ!" 

Shimmele  eyed  the  older  boy  gravely. 

"  They  are  fooling  thee,"  he  said. 
"  There  is  only  one  God.  He  has  been 
always,  and  will  always  be, — just  ask  my 
Babe, — none  can  kill  Him." 

"  O  thou  liar !  The  priest  said  it  in 
church.  I  guess  he  ought  to  know." 

Maryam's  business  was  a  peculiarly  un 
fortunate  one.  It  flourished  only  with  the 
affluence  of  the  Gass.  The  large  oven  was 
now  oftenest  cold,  and  Maryam  sat 
troubled  and  idle.  She  would  gladly  have 
relinquished  Shimmele  to  his  parents  now, 
but  the  crops  on  Reb  Shlome's  farm  had 
also  failed,  and  there  was  hardly  more  than 
potatoes  and  salt  on  which  to  struggle 
through  the  winter.  There  came  a  day 
when  she  arrived  at  the  end  of  her  means; 

250 


TEARS 


there  was  nothing  left  save  the  little  hoard 
which  was  to  buy  her  blind  son's  eye-sight. 
She  would  have  cut  off  her  right  hand 
rather  than  touch  it. 

On  a  bitter  day  Maryam  sent  Shimmele 
to  the  heights  to  collect  an  outstanding 
debt  from  one  of  her  aristocratic  custom 
ers.  Shimmele  waited  long  for  the  appear 
ance  of  the  mistress  of  the  house,  but  left 
in  the  end  downcast  and  empty-handed. 

As  he  was  passing  the  mouth  of  a  nar 
row  street,  he  was  stopped  by  a  group  of 
Christian  boys  who  were  playing  ball. 
Bomul,  the  fire-woman's  son,  was  one  of 
them,  and  noticing  Shimmele  he  suddenly 
cried: 

"There  he  goes,  the  Christ-killer!" 

The  other  boys  took  up  the  name  like  a 
chorus,  and  shouted  it  again  and  again: 

"  Christ-killer,  Christ-killer." 

Shimmele  flushed  with  indignation,  and, 
following  his  first  impulse,  began  a  defense, 
gravely  explaining  that  he  had  not  even 

251 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


seen  their  Christ,  much  less  killed  him,  but 
his  words  were  drowned  in  the  scornful 
jeering  of  the  crowd.  Then  he  strove  to 
walk  on,  but  a  boy  who  was  a  stranger  to 
him  cried: 

"  Out  of  the  way  there ! "  and  jostled 
him  into  the  gutter. 

This  feat  was  greeted  by  approving 
laughter,  and  the  boy,  thus  stimulated  to 
further  efforts,  suddenly  planted  himself 
before  Shimmele,  and  barred  his  progress. 
This  boy  was  markedly  different  from  the 
rest,  a  broad  brow  and  clear-cut  features  of 
Teutonic  cast  distinguishing  him  from  his 
heavy-faced,  duller  Slav  companions.  He 
was  less  roughly  clad,  and  his  manner  was 
tinged  with  a  foreign  hue,  and,  as  was  ap 
parent,  he  posed  as  a  leader  of  the  com 
pany. 

"  Take  thy  cap  off  when  a  Christian 
gentleman  speaks,"  he  commanded. 

The  boys  had  formed  a  ring  about  Shim 
mele  and  his  tormentor,  and  were  con- 

252 


TEARS 

vulsed  with  merriment  at  the  latter's 
unique  mode  of  amusing  them.  Shimmele 
had  paled  with  fear.  In  vain  he  scanned 
the  faces  of  the  group  for  one  friendly 
look.  Resistance  was  useless.  He  lifted 
his  hand  to  remove  his  cap,  but  before  he 
could  reach  it,  it  was  plucked  from  his 
head  and  flung  into  the  mud.  This  called 
forth  more  encouraging  laughter,  and  the 
little  torturer,  swelling  with  an  ambition  to 
shine,  now  cried : 

"  Look  here,  fellows,  I'll  show  you  how 
to  handle  these  Jew-dogs." 

The  boys  looked  expectant,  and  Shim 
mele  grew  more  pale. 

"  Now  make  a  bow,"  cried  the  little 
tyrant.  The  boys  yelled  with  delight,  but 
Shimmele's  jaw  showed  sudden  signs  of  re 
sistance.  He  burned  with  shame  that  he, 
the  Bochurte,  the  pride  of  the  Gass,  should 
be  made  to  bob  foolishly  for  the  sport  of 
these  Goyim  in  the  street,  but  a  blow  on  the 
head  reminded  him  of  his  helplessness.  He 

253 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


remembered,  too,  that  a  constant  lesson  of 
his  short  life  had  been  not  to  reply  when 
they  insult  you.  He  wished  nothing  save 
to  return  to  his  grandmother  in  peace  and 
unharmed,  for  he  knew  how  she  would 
grieve  if  aught  befell.  So  Shimmele  set 
his  teeth  and  with  livid  face  began  gravely 
bowing  to  the  shrieking  crowd. 

"  Deeper,  deeper !  " 

Shimmele  bowed  deeply  and  solemnly. 
But  the  little  torturer  had  not  yet  finished. 

"  Now,"  he  cried,  "  kneel  down." 

The  crowd  yelled  hilariously,  and  Shim 
mele  had  not  time  to  protest,  for  a  dozen 
strong  hands  pressed  him  quickly  to  his 
knees. 

The  climax  had  yet  to  come,  the  little 
fiend  with  artistic  instinct  having  reserved 
the  best  for  the  last. 

"  Now,"  cried  he,  beaming  with  a  sense 
of  coming  success,  "  now,  cross  thyself." 

This  was  the  culmination  of  the  absurd, 
and  the  boys  roared  with  utter  delight. 

254 


TEARS 

"  Cross  thyself !  Make  the  cross,  Jew !  " 
they  shouted  in  chorus.  But  the  artist  had 
reckoned  only  with  Shimmele,  and  not 
with  many  centuries  of  his  ancestors. 
These  now  came  strangely  into  play. 
Shimmele's  jaw  had  become  rigid  as  iron. 
The  blood  was  back  in  his  face,  and  his  eyes 
blazed  fearlessly  into  his  tormentors', 
glowing  eloquently  with  deep  and  utter 
contempt. 

The  artist  felt  his  power  going,  the  boys 
were  still  jeering,  but  the  point  of  their 
merriment  seemed  turning  on  himself. 

"  Cross  thyself ! "  he  roared  again  and 
again,  kicking  and  pummeling  Shimmele 
the  while  in  his  rage,  but  the  blood  of 
Shimmele's  martyred  ancestry  boiled  in  his 
veins,  and  had  they  then  and  there  hacked 
him  to  pieces,  he  would  not  have  made  the 
sign  of  the  cross. 

And  now  it  was  Bomul,  the  son  of  the 
fire-woman,  who  saved  Shimmele  further 
torture.  Whether  it  was  innate  admira- 

255 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


tion  of  courage,  or  the  memory  of  all  the 
sweet  Sabbath  bread  he  had  eaten  in  Mar- 
yam's  house,  he  suddenly  cried: 

"  Run,  fellows,  the  watch ! " 

The  boys  scattered;  Shimmele  leapt  to 
his  feet  and  ran,  but  the  little  horde,  find 
ing  themselves  tricked,  vented  their  rage 
characteristically — they  had  learned  it  from 
their  elders — not  on  Bomul,  the  cause,  but 
on  Shimmele,  the  victim.  All  pride,  all 
courage  had  fled  him;  a  little  thing  of 
quaking  terror,  he  ran  like  a  hunted  hare, 
and  they  stoned  him  as  he  ran. 

It  was  dusk  when  he  crept  into  the 
house,  and  sat  down  quietly  in  a  corner. 
His  one  desire  was  to  save  his  grandmother 
the  pain  of  knowing.  Maryam  sitting  in 
the  dark  misinterpreted  his  silence. 

"  So  they  did  not  give  thee  the  money." 

"  Nay,  nothing/'  said  Shimmele  faintly. 

Maryam  stared  through  the  dark  in  the 
direction  of  Shimmele's  quavering  tones. 
With  a  sudden  intuition  of  wrong,  she 

256 


TEARS 

sprang  from  her  chair  and  lighted  a 
candle. 

"  Shimmele ! "  she  shrieked  at  sight  of 
him.  "  How  thou  lookest !  " 

He  was  hatless  and  white  and  trembling, 
and  a  thin  stream  of  blood  from  a  wound 
behind  his  ear  was  trickling  down  his  neck. 

In  a  moment  she  had  torn  his  clothes 
from  him,  and  disclosed  the  little  round 
back,  the  white  flesh  bruised  and  broken 
and  stained  with  the  blood  from  his  head. 

With  white,  trembling  lips  Shimmele 
bravely  recounted  the  miserable  tale  of  his 
persecutions. 

"  They  tried  to  make  me  cry  out,  but  I 
would  not,"  he  said  with  dignity,  but  when 
he  came  to  the  end,  the  ignoble  end,  flee 
ing  and  stoned  through  the  street,  he  could 
bear  it  no  longer. 

"  They  stoned  me — in  the  street — like  a 
dog,"  cried  Shimmele,  the  Bochurle,  the  fu 
ture  chief-rabbi,  and  fell  to  sobbing  bitterly 
in  sheer  misery  and  shame. 

257 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


Maryam  rocked  him  in  her  arms.  She 
could  not  weep.  Her  heart  writhed  in  ut 
ter  pain;  her  soul  burned  with  fierce  rebel 
lion. 

"  A  little  child !  "  she  moaned.  "  My 
Shimmele !  " 


358 


XIV 
THE  SOURCE  OF  TEARS 


XIV 

THE  SOURCE  OF  TEARS 

The  frightful  disease,  Jew-hatred,  raged 
again  in  Europe.  More  contagious  than 
the  cholera;  more  ghastly  than  war;  arising 
mysteriously,  none  knew  where,  and 
spreading  with  lightning  rapidity,  it  rav 
aged  the  continent  from  end  to  end;  shriv 
eling  with  black  blight  the  fair  flowers  of 
enlightenment,  poisoning  the  sweet 
sources  of  justice  and  truth,  killing  the 
very  seeds  of  righteousness. 

The  aged,  whose  lives  should  have  melt 
ed  in  the  gentle  flow  of  tolerance,  cursed 
the  Jew.  The  young  and  strong,  whose 
lusty  powers  should  have  fought  nobly  for 
Justice  and  Brotherhood,  cursed  the  Jew. 
Little  children,  whose  sweet  lips  should 
have  babbled  innocence,  cursed  the  Jew. 

Keen  minds  had  analyzed  the  evil,  and 

261 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


classed  it  with  things  dead — dead  plagues, 
dead  beliefs,  dead  horrors  of  the  Middle 
Ages;  a  low  thing,  like  black  superstition, 
that  shriveled  and  died  in  the  light  of 
knowledge.  Now  had  fair  science  and  dis 
covery  and  invention  uncovered  the  dark 
places  in  the  human  mind;  now  had  the 
theory  of  evolution  blared  abroad  more 
forcefully  than  all  the  ethical  codes  of  re 
ligion  the  brotherhood  of  man,  and  yet 
Jew-hatred  stalked  abroad  unshamed. 

In  many  guises  did  it  appear,  parading 
in  some  countries  in  the  fine  vestments  of 
Patriotism  and  calling  itself  Nationalism. 
In  others  statesmen  usurped  the  noble  garb 
of  science  to  clothe  it  withal;  a  Social-Eco 
nomic  movement  was  its  name  there.  In 
Austria  it  dared  defile  the  name  of  the 
gentle  Jew  of  Nazareth,  whose  pleading 
words,  "  Love  ye  one  another,"  still  go 
echoing  down  the  centuries,  and  his  fol 
lowers  called  themselves  Christian-Social 
ists. 


THE  SOURCE  OF  TEARS 


In  the  province  of  which  Maritz  was  a 
part,  it  went  boldly  naked,  and  people 
called  it  fearlessly  by  its  true  name — Jew- 
hatred. 

For  many  years  the  Jews  of  Maritz  had 
lived  at  peace  with  their  Christian  neigh 
bors.  Mutual  distrust  and  dislike  had 
almost  vanished  in  a  long,  friendly,  and  mu 
tually  useful  intercourse.  Anshel  viewed 
Christoph's  dulness  with  good-natured 
scorn,  and  Christoph,  who  rather  despised 
the  Jewish  peddler's  lowly  calling,  admired 
his  superior  wit.  It  was  not  an  unusual 
matter  for  Christoph  to  accept  a  gift  of  the 
Jews'  Passover  bread,  and  Anshel,  on  the 
other  hand,  though  his  religion  forbade 
him  to  eat  of  the  Christian's  food,  kept  his 
little  kosher  pot  in  Christoph's  house,  in 
which  to  boil  his  dinner  of  dried  peas, 
that  he  might  eat  in  company  with  his 
friend  and  customer. 

Tis  true,  insults  to  the  Jew  were  even 
then  not  lacking,  but  he  pocketed  them 

263 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


philosophically,  with  a  tolerant  shrug,  as 
one  ignores  the  vile  curses  of  a  child,  the 
mud-spatterings  of  rowdy  boys. 

But  in  this  sorrowful  year  all  was 
changed.  The  Jew,  where  he  had  met  with 
kindly  words,  was  now  assailed  with  bitter 
curses  and  black  looks.  The  peddlers 
tramped  in  vain  from  farm  to  farm;  the 
small  tradesmen  sat  idle  in  their  little 
shops. 

The  want  in  the  Gass  grew  extreme;  the 
long  faces,  longer  and  paler.  One  day 
they  found  the  stalls  at  the  weekly  market 
placarded  with  great  sheets,  bearing  the  in 
junction,  "  Do  not  buy  of  the  Jews !  "  The 
men  came  home  with  dumb,  despairing 
faces.  They  had  earned  nothing. 

"  It  is  the  end,"  the  people  cried,  wring 
ing  their  hands.  "  Where  shall  we  find 
bread  for  our  children?  " 

But  the  end,  the  awful  end,  was  yet  to 
come. 

In  communities  where  religious  super- 

264 


THE  SOURCE  OF  TEARS 


stitions  still  becloud  the  mind,  the  fearful 
disease,  Jew-hatred,  brings  with  it  its  faith 
ful  companion,  the  horrible  spectre  called 
the  Blood-Accusation.  Popes  and  pre 
lates,  philanthropists  and  philosophers, 
writers  and  preachers  have  thundered  forth 
through  the  centuries  against  this  ghastly 
lie — in  vain.  To  a  people  such  as  the  Gen 
tiles  of  Maritz,  who  sought  the  cure  for 
their  sick  and  maimed  at  the  shrines  of 
saints,  and  went  on  Good  Friday  to  see  the 
blue  and  crimson  clay  effigy  of  their  patron 
saint  weep  real  tears  out  of  his  glass  eyes — 
to  such  as  these  one  black  myth  more  or 
less  was  of  little  account.  And  how  the 
ghastly  spectre  found  lodgment  in  Maritz 
and  the  havoc  it  there  wrought,  I  have  now 

to  tell 

One  bitter,  sleeting  winter  morning, 
many  years  before  Shimmele's  birth,  Ma- 
chel  Katzev  (Michael  the  butcher),  known 
also  as  Machel  Grobian  (boor)  in  the  Gass, 
on  opening  his  shop,  found  Julsa  the  beg- 

265 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


gar-child  sitting  on  his  door-step.  She 
was  blue  and  chattering  with  cold,  and 
heavy  tears,  pressed  out  by  cold  and  pain, 
rolled  stolidly  upon  her  cracked  and  bleed 
ing  hands. 

Julsa  was  not  unknown  to  Machel,  her 
weekly  begging  rounds  bringing  her  also 
to  the  Gass;  and  his  manner  had  been  to 
give  her  a  few  handfuls  of  meat-scraps  and 
send  her  on,  but  on  this  day  Machel  Kat- 
zev's  heart  was  tender.  His  youngest 
child,  which  had  been  sick  unto  death  with 
croup,  had  recovered  in  the  night,  and  as 
he  gazed  at  the  beggar-girl,  and  thought  of 
his  own  little  ones  in  the  snug  room  behind 
the  shop,  where  his  good  wife  Rachel  was 
warming  their  little  shirts  by  the  fire,  and 
cooking  a  great  potful  of  potato-soup  for 
their  breakfast,  a  fearful,  righteous  wrath 
overpowered  his  soul.  He  uttered  a 
mighty  curse,  inclusive  of  mankind  and  the 
whole  world  in  general,  picked  up  Julsa  in 
his  arms,  sat  her  down  by  the  fire,  smeared 

266 


THE  SOURCE   OF  TEARS 


a  thick  dab  of  tallow  over  her  bleeding 
hands,  and  began  to  bellow  loudly  for  hot 
soup. 

All  day  he  behaved  so  shamefully  that 
his  customers  declared  there  was  no  stand 
ing  it  any  longer,  and  that  such  a  Grobian 
the  world  had  not  yet  seen.  Next  day  he 
donned  his  Sabbath  coat  and  tight  boots, 
and  went  to  call  on  the  parish  priest,  and 
when  he  returned  he  was  leading  the  beg 
gar-child  by  the  hand. 

"Have  you  heard?"  cried  the  people 
scornfully.  "  Machel  Katzev  has  won  the 
grand  lottery  prize.  He  has  hardly  enough 
for  his  own  children,  and  takes  a  little 
Shiksah  (Gentile  girl)  into  his  house — the 
man  is  crazy !  "  And  to  prove  their  asser 
tion  they  then  sent  their  own  children's 
half-worn  clothes  to  Julsa. 

Julsa  was  the  illegitimate  child  of  a  ser 
vant,  who  deserted  her  when  she  was  in 
her  fifth  year.  For  a  time  then  the  little 
one  knocked  around  the  village,  until  Zip- 

267 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


pel,  the  beggar-woman,  volunteered  to 
take  her,  for  Zippel  was  old,  and  loved  her 
ease  upon  her  bed  of  rags  better  than 
trudging  with  a  heavy  basket.  After  that 
Julsa  begged  for  both.  She  was  eight 
years  old  when  Machel  Katzev  received 
permission  from  the  priest  to  take  her  into 
his  house. 

Machel  clothed  and  fed  her,  and  sent  her 
to  school  until  she  had  learned  to  read  and 
write.  He  bought  her  a  prayer-book  with 
a  beautiful  golden  crucifix  on  the  cover, 
and  every  Sunday  morning  he  might  be 
seen  dragging  a  struggling  little  girl  to  the 
Catholic  church,  nor  did  he  turn  back  until 
he  saw  her  safe  within;  that  she  might  not, 
as  he  put  it,  "  grow  up,  God  forbid,  like  a 
heathen  in  his  house." 

Julsa  grew  up  a  plump,  dull,  good-na 
tured  girl,  who  loved  Machel,  Rachel,  and 
their  children  devotedly.  She  sang  and 
worked  all  day  long,  even  helping  out  in 
the  shop  on  busy  days. 

268 


THE   SOURCE   OF  TEARS 


"A  Behemah,"  said  the  people,  "that 
God  have  mercy !  But  she  has  a  real  Jew 
ish  heart,"  for  Julsa  soon  learned  all  of 
Machel's  tricks,  and  knew  that  if  there  is 
too  much  fat  with  the  rich  Frau  Blumele's 
roasting  meat,  it  is  no  matter,  but  a 
poor  woman's  penny-bone  must  always 
have  a  bit  of  good  meat  clinging  to  it 
somewhere. 

When  Julsa  was  fifteen,  Machel  began 
to  pay  her  wages,  that  she  might  not  stand 
some  day  a  God-forsaken  creature  in  the 
world,  a  maiden  without  a  dowry.  Julsa 
now  was  twenty,  had  already  forty  gulden 
toward  a  dowry  safely  wrapped  in  one  of 
Machel's  old  bandannas,  and,  better  still, 
she  had  also  a  sweetheart.  Machel  did  not 
approve  of  this  sweetheart,  for  he  was  a 
runabout  fellow  who  lived  upon  no  one 
knew  what,  but  Julsa  said  he  was  a  miller 
by  trade,  and  would  tend  to  business  and 
marry  her  when  she  had  one  hundred  gul 
den. 

269 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


One  morning  the  Gass  awoke  to  the 
wailing  cries  of  Machel  and  his  wife,  who 
were  running  about  wildly  in  search  of 
their  maid  Julsa.  She  had  disappeared  in 
the  night;  all  trace  of  her  was  gone.  It 
was  found  that  all  her  belongings  were 
in  their  usual  places.  Nothing  was  miss 
ing  but  the  red  shawl  she  always  wore,  and 
the  forty  gulden  she  had  saved  towards  her 
dowry. 

Suspicion  fell  upon  Lucas,  Julsa's  lover; 
but  he  also  had  disappeared.  It  was  re 
ported  that  he  lodged  with  a  charcoal- 
burner  in  the  forest,  but  neither  Lucas  nor 
the  burner  could  be  found. 

Half  of  the  Gass  turned  out  to  help  in 
the  search.  Machel  swore  fearful  oaths  at 
every  one  who  came  in  his  path,  and 
Rachel  wept  bitter  tears.  Then  they  re 
ported  her  disappearance  to  the  authori 
ties.  A  diligent  search  was  instituted,  but 
in  vain.  After  a  few  weeks  Julsa's  corpse 
was  found  in  a  ravine  in  the  forest,  and  the 

270 


THE  SOURCE  OF  TEARS 


old  bandanna  in  which  she  had  kept  her 
money  lay  not  far  away. 

Who  can  know  where  it  began?  Per 
haps  one  night  at  the  fireside  when  ghost 
stories  were  going  the  rounds,  some  old 
woman  repeated  a  harrowing  tale  of  how 
in  her  youth  it  had  been  said  that  the  Jews 
require  the  blood  of  a  Christian  virgin  to 
mix  with  their  Passover  bread.  Like  a 
malignant  growth,  stretching  out  its  poi 
sonous  creepers  in  a  night,  the  horrible 
myth  spread  abroad,  and  found  hold  with 
the  Gentiles  of  Maritz. 

Thinking  people  shook  their  heads  in 
credulously,  but  the  myth  waxed  great, 
more  strong,  more  wide  than  had  it  been 
the  fairest  flower  of  truth. 

On  a  quiet  Sabbath  afternoon,  the  Gass 
was  thrown  into  a  panic  by  the  arrest  of 
Machel  Katzev  and  his  wife,  on  the  charge, 
of  murder  of  their  hired  maid  Julsa.  The 
implication  was  a  so-called  Ritual  Murder. 
Sworn  witnesses  arose  who  testified  to  hav- 

271 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


ing  seen  Machel  and  his  wife,  together  with 
other  Jews,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  forest 
on  the  night  of  the  murder. 

The  Jews  were  paralyzed  with  horror. 
The  accusation  of  ritual  murder,  which  had 
through  centuries  wrought  such  sad  havoc 
among  them,  had  been  to  them  a  terror  of 
the  distant  past,  like  the  Inquisition  or  the 
murderous  bands  of  Crusaders;  yet  now  it 
arose  suddenly  from  the  dead;  not  a  phan 
tom,  but  living  in  the  full  light  of  day. 

Among  the  many  anti-Semitic  agitators 
of  those  days,  there  was  a  certain  noble 
man,  the  excessive  manner  of  whose  ti 
rades  had  afforded  much  amusement  to  in 
telligent  classes,  and  had  earned  for  him 
the  sobriquet  of  "  thrasher  Count."  An 
emissary  of  his,  attracted  by  the  fruitful 
promises  of  recent  events,  had  found  his 
way  to  Maritz.  On  the  square  and  in  the 
taverns,  he  bellowed  forth  his  vile  denunci 
ations,  while  the  populace  cheered  him 
with  fervor. 

272 


THE   SOURCE   OF  TEARS 


From  his  lips  the  Blood-Accusation  took 
new  authority.  He  rehearsed  for  them  all 
the  ancient  calumnies  of  history,  distorted 
to  suit  his  purpose.  With  dramatic  fire 
he  described  the  murder  of  the  maid  Julsa, 
and  spoke  of  secret  books  and  laws  and 
mystic  rights  of  the  Jew,  and  trie  people 
shuddered  and  believed. 

Those  Jews  who  still  had  spirit  left  for 
battle,  denied,  protested — in  vain.  There 
were  few  Gentiles  in  Maritz  who  did  not 
know  that  blood  is  counted  an  "  abomina 
tion  "  in  the  Gass;  there  were  few  that  did 
not  know  how  the  Jewish  housewives 
soaked  the  meat  for  their  table  to  remove 
from  it  all  blood,  as  their  religion  com 
manded,  and  yet  they  believed. 

They  knew  that  Julsa  had  clung  with 
loyal  love  to  her  foster-parents,  and  that 
they  had  mourned  for  her  with  deep  grief 
— and  yet  they  believed. 

Life  now  became  well-nigh  unbearable 
to  the  Jews.  The  peddlers  were  stoned  in 

273 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


the  streets,  and  heaped  with  vilest  execra 
tions.  Maryam  dared  hardly  show  herself 
on  the  street  for  fear  of  insult;  when  she 
passed,  people  pointed  at  her,  whispering 
in  horror:  "  See,  that  is  she  in  whose 
kitchen  they  bake  with  Christian  blood." 

Women  who  had  run  to  her  with  their 
sick  children,  now  shunned  her  with 
frightened,  hate-filled  faces.  Little  chil 
dren  who  had  found  their  sweetest  rest  in 
her  soft  arms,  now  hid  from  her  behind 
their  mother's  skirts.  Once,  when  she  was 
leading  to  its  home  a  little  child  which  she 
had  rescued  out  of  a  bog,  a  strange  farmer 
wrested  it  from  her,  crying,  "  Ha,  Jew- 
woman,  dost  wish  to  slaughter  this  one, 
too?" 

After  months  of  unbearable  abuse,  the 
people  of  the  Gass  at  last  were  roused  to 
concerted  protest,  and  a  solemn  service  of 
justification  was  held  in  the  synagogue. 
All  the  high  Gentile  judiciaries  were  pres 
ent,  the  members  of  the  Jewish  community 

274 


THE   SOURCE   OF  TEARS 


appeared  as  on  the  great  Day  of  Atone 
ment,  in  their  death  robes,  and  one  by  one 
they  ascended  the  altar,  and  swore  a 
mighty,  solemn  oath  to  their  innocence  of 
the  murder  of  the  hired  maid  Julsa.  It 
was  of  no  avail. 

The  venerable,  gentle  sage,  the  rabbi, 
Reb  Yoshe  Levison,  journeyed  to  tHe 
county  seat  to  testify,  and  in  the  court  he 
swore  upon  the  scrolls  of  the  Law,  with 
shame  and  dismay,  that  the  Jews  do  not 
use  Christian  blood  in  their  Passover 
bread.  It  was  in  vain. 

And  in  the  age  of  Steam  and  Electricity, 
in  the  age  of  Liberty  and  Equality,  there 
was  witnessed  an  incredible,  unthinkable 
sight;  a  high  court  of  Justice  in  the  midst 
of  civilized  Europe  conducted  a  trial 
against  a  member  of  an  ancient,  God-fear 
ing  community  for  the  horrible  charge  of 
Ritual  Murder. 


275 


XV 
SHIMMELE  PRAYS 


XV 

SHIMMELE  PRAYS 

On  a  Sunday  morning,  not  long  after 
the  close  of  the  great  Passover  festival, 
Machel  Katzev  and  his  wife  Rachel  re 
turned  from  the  county-seat,  where  they 
had  lain  in  prison  under  the  awful  charge 
of  the  murder  of  their  hired  maid  Julsa. 

Rachel  had  spent  the  night  of  the  crime 
quietly  sleeping  beside  her  children,  and 
Machel,  as  member  of  the  local  Chevra 
Kadisha  (holy  brotherhood) — a  society 
whose  office  it  is  to  minister  to  the  dead 
and  dying — had  watched  and  prayed,  to 
gether  with  nine  other  men,  at  the  bedside 
of  a  sick  man.  All  this  had  been  incon- 
testably  proved  at  the  trial;  the  sworn 
witnesses  of  the  accusation,  stupid  tools  of 
malice  and  hate,  were  self-confessed  per 
jurers,  Yet  Rachel  and  Machel  returned 

279 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


acquitted,  not  honorably,  but  because  of 
insufficient  evidence. 

Almost  the  whole  Gass,  with  Machel's 
children  at  their  head,  had  come  out  to 
meet  them,  and  it  was  a  tearfully  jubilant 
procession  that  led  the  way  to  the  syna 
gogue,  where  a  special  service  of  thanks 
giving  had  been  arranged. 

The  civilized  element  of  Gentile  Maritz 
rejoiced  openly  with  the  Gass,  though  per 
haps  for  a  reason  of  its  own.  Yet  both 
gave  thanks  that  justice  had  been  done,  and 
their  home  and  their  boasted  enlighten 
ment  had  been  spared  the  awful  stain  of  a 
judicial  murder.  But  the  larger  part  of 
the  people  looked  on  with  black  scowls 
and  muttered  curses. 

In  the  afternoon  after  mass,  when  the 
men  as  usual  were  gathered  in  the  tavern, 
there  appeared  again,  suddenly,  the  emis 
sary  of  the  now  noted  "  thrasher  Count." 
From  an  elevated  place  on  a  table,  in  a 
room  crammed  with  ignorant  men,  fevered 

280 


SHIMMELE  PRAYS 


with  famine  and  religious  hate  and  bad 
whiskey,  he  hurled  forth  his  fire-brands  of 
vile  abuse  and  calumny;  and  the  foolish 
people  swayed  with  his  words  like  reeds  in 
the  wind. 

"  They  have  sucked  you  dry,  and  now 
they  eat  while  you  starve.  Take  back,  I 
say,  take  back  what  is  your  own.  Why 
should  you  pity  them?  Did  they  pity  our 
meek  and  holy  Saviour  when  they  nailed 
him  to  the  cross?  You  are  sold — sold," 
he  roared,  "  you,  your  wives  and  children, 
sold  to  the  damned,  blood-sucking  Jews !  " 

Then  arose  Starek,  the  aged  wheel 
wright. 

"  Hold,  lad,"  he  cried,  "  that  is  not  true, 
the  Jews  do  not  drink  Christian  blood,  the 
courts  of  justice  have  acquitted  them.  It 
is  enough,  I  am  for  order  and  peace." 

"  The  courts  of  justice  have  lied,"  roar 
ed  the  agitator  again.  "  They  are  bought, 
the  press  is  bought,  aye,  the  whole  gov 
ernment  is  bought  by  the  accursed  rabble. 

281 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


Down  with  the  Jews!  Take  club  and  flail 
and  pitch-fork — at  them — at  them,  I  say. 
They  must  be  bled,  the  wretched  Jew-rab 
ble  !  We  must  slash,  slash,  slash,  until  this 
festering  sore,  Judaism,  is  cut  out  of  the 
land !  " * 

In  the  dusk  of  that  day  the  first  stone 
crashed  through  a  window  in  the  Jews'- 
street,  and  on  the  site  of  the  old  gates  was 
found  a  placard  bearing  in  red  letters  the 
words :  "  Death  to  the  Jews !  " 

The  Gass  was  dumb,  stricken  with  dis 
may.  A  deputation  was  sent  to  the  Bur- 
germeister;  another  to  the  rabbi.  Both 
returned  with  comforting  messages.  But 
in  the  street  stood  white-faced  groups. 

"  Are  we  living  in  the  Middle  Ages,  in 
the  days  of  a  Chmel —  "  cried  the  younger 
people.  "  We  now  stand  equal  to  any,  un 
der  the  protection  of  the  Kaiser  and  the 
law.  Let  them  just  dare !  " 

1  A  verbatim  extract  from  a  speech  by  Graf  Piickler, 
delivered  August,  1900. 

282 


SHIMMELE   PRAYS 


"  Nay,  let  us  go  home  and  keep  the 
peace,"  cried  the  older  ones. 

The  people  went  home,  but  not  to  their 
beds,  and  they  sat  white-faced  and  leaden- 
hearted,  watching  and  praying  for  the  end 
of  a  night  that  had  just  begun. 

In  Maryam's  house,  too,  all  was  dark 
and  still.  Maryam  had  put  Shimmele  to 
bed,  and  was  talking  quietly  with  her  son, 
blind  Yossef,  who  happened  to  be  in  the 
village. 

"  Bah,  what  is  there  to  fear ! "  said  Mar- 
yam  bravely,  though  her  face  was  white  and 
troubled.  "  A  lot  of  street  loafers  who 
torture  little  children;  but  to-morrow,  God 
willing,  thou  wilt  take  Shimmele  back  to 
the  farm.  It  is  no  longer  pleasant  here  in 
Maritz." 

"  The  world/'  said  Yossef  musingly, 
"  reminds  me  of  one  of  those  deceiving 
wood-apples.  They  look  nice  and  red,  but 
bite  into  it,  and  it  is  bitter  as  gall,  be 
cause  it  is  not  ripe.  Yes,  the  world,  too, 

283 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


on  the  surface  may  look  fair  and  pleasant, 
but  it  is  not  ripe — nay,  the  world  is  not  yet 
ripe."' 

"  Vetterl,"  came  a  small  voice  from  the 
bed,  "  what  dost  mean — the  world  is  not 
ripe?" 

"Why  art  not  sleeping,  Shimmele?" 
said  Maryam.  "  It  is  time  that  thou 
shouldst  sleep." 

"  Please,  Vetterl,  what  does  that 
mean?" 

"  Sleep,  Shimmele — to-morrow  is  also  a 
day,  to-morrow  I  shall  tell  thee." 

Alas  for  Shimmele — that  to-morrow 
never  came,  and  never  did  Yossef  explain. 
It  was  life  and  time,  it  was  bitter  sorrow 
and  a  hard  futile  struggle,  that  at  last 
made  clear  to  Shimmele  what  Yossef 
meant  when  he  said,  "  The  world  is  not 
yet  ripe." 

An  hour  before  midnight  a  man  came 
tearing  through  the  Gass,  crying: 

"  Run,  run  for  your  lives !  " 


284 


SHIMMELE   PRAYS 


"What  is  the  matter,?"  cried  Maryam 
from  her  door-way. 

"  They  are  upon  us,  with  clubs  and  axes. 
Run !  Save  yourselves !  " 

At  almost  the  same  moment  a  roar  of 
mingled  shouts  broke  over  the  north  end 
of  the  street. 

In  a  flash  the  whole  Gass  was  a  chaos  of 
shrieking,  crying,  fleeing  humanity.  The 
Jews  with  their  children  clinging  to  their 
breasts  and  backs  fled  like  hunted  game 
into  the  woods  and  thickets,  while  the 
howling  mob  stormed  their  houses,  loaded 
their  women  and  children  with  linen  and 
china  and  household  goods,  and  broke  and 
burned  what  they  could  not  carry  away. 
Wherever  they  found  beer  or  wine,  they 
drank  deeply  for  new  courage;  wherever 
they  met  with  resistance,  they  beat  about 
them  murderously.  O  pity  them,  you 
who  read.  Pity  them;  not  alone  the  poor 
Jews,  fleeing  wildly  for  their  lives,  but  this 
maddened,  raging  mob.  They,  too,  are 

285 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


victims,  these  drunken  brutes;  victims  of 
bigotry  and  corruption,  of  ignorance  and 
envy  and  hate.  The  Jews  will  crawl  back 
to  the  ruins  of  their  homes,  and  on  the 
smouldering  ash-heap  sleep  the  sleep  of 
the  innocent.  But  these  poor  beasts — 
not  until  the  great  leveler  Time  will  have 
moulded  their  flesh  with  the  dust,  not  till 
then  will  their  hands  be  washed  clean  of 
the  stain  of  innocent  human  blood. 

With  the  first  shout  of  the  mob  Yossef 
had  leaped  to  his  feet,  and  barricaded  the 
door  with  Maryam's  large  baking-table 
and  the  heavy  wooden  settle.  There  he 
stood  immovable,  leaning  his  giant 
strength  against  the  door,  while  Maryam 
spoke  soothing,  reassuring  words  to  him. 

"  They  will  not  harm  us — they  are  after 
plunder — all  know  me  and  that  I  have 
nothing." 

The  noises  of  the  mob  grew  louder;  now 
the  crackling  of  their  bonfires  could 
clearly  be  heard. 

286 


SHIMMELE  PRAYS 


A  shower  of  stones  crashing  through  the 
windows  announced  their  arrival  at  Mar- 
yam's  house. 

Maryam  snatched  Shimmele  from  the 
bed,  and  fled  with  him  behind  the  shelter 
of  the  large  oven,  where  she  covered  him 
with  her  body.  Yossef  remained  guarding 
the  door,  upon  which  followed  a  fierce  can 
nonade  of  blows  and  a  demand  for  en 
trance. 

He  leaned  his  great  strength  forward, 
but  a  heavy  iron  bar,  wielded  like  a  ram 
rod,  shivered  the  old  pine  boards  like 
glass,  and  sent  him  staggering  into  the 
room.  A  red,  smoky  glare  of  pitch-torches 
poured  upon  the  darkness,  and  danced  on 
a  mass  of  wild,  red-eyed  faces,  which  filled 
the  open  door-frame. 

Maryam  leaped  from  her  refuge  to  Yos 
sef  s  side,  crying  to  the  leader  of  the  mob : 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me,  smith?  You 
know  I  have  nothing." 

The  smith  so  far  recovered  his  sanity  to 

287 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


remember  that  Maryam,  not  many  months 
before,  had  saved  the  life  of  his  youngest 
child  when  it  was  dying  of  croup. 

"  Come  away,  fellows,"  he  said,  "  it's  the 
old  baker-woman — she  has  nothing." 

"  The  witch's  kitchen  where  they  bake 
with  Christian  blood,"  cried  the  mob. 

Just  then  a  glint  from  one  of  the  torches 
leaped  into  the  polished  mirror  of  Mar- 
yam's  Kid  dusk  cup,  standing  in  its  lonely 
grandeur  on  the  shelf.  Alas  for  Maryam's 
proud  emblem — Reb  Chayim's  symbol  of 
joy  and  hope  for  the  Jew — it  threw  back 
the  gleam  into  the  raider's  eye,  and : 

"Silver!"  he  cried,  "  thou  liar,  smith, — 
I  see  silver." 

"Back!"  cried  Yossef  as  the  rabble 
pushed  forward.  He  grasped  the  heavy 
settle  to  strike,  but  a  dozen  iron  hands 
clutched  it  firmly.  A  black,  vicious  rod 
leapt  in  air. 

"  Mercy !  "  shrieked  Maryam.  "  He  is 
blind." 

288 


SHIMMELE  PRAYS 


Then  followed  a  thud  as  of  falling  logs, 
a  mad  whirl  of  stamping  and  crashing  and 
yelling. 

Suddenly  from  without  there  came  cries 
of  "  The  gendarmes — the  gendarmes !  " 
and  quickly  the  hungry  maw  of  the  night 
sucked  in  the  struggling  horde.  Like  a 
madly  whirling  cyclone  tearing  across  the 
prairie  it  had  raged  in  the  room  but  a 
moment,  and  fled  as  quickly,  leaving  wreck 
and  ruin  and  death  behind. 

There  was  a  loud  clatter  of  hoof-beats 
and  clank  of  swords  without — men,  wo 
men,  and  children  with  arms  full  of  plunder 
went  scurrying  in  all  directions.  Then  fol 
lowed  sudden  peace — and  the  Gass,  too, 
was  silent  and  empty. 

Through  all  the  turmoil  Shimmele  had 
been  as  one  paralyzed.  He  still  crouched 
in  his  corner  behind  the  stove,  stunned 
with  horror,  glaring  wide-eyed  into  the 
black  void  of  the  night. 

He  strained  his  ears  for  a  familiar  sound. 

289 


IDYLS  OF  THE   GASS 


There  was  nothing  save  a  strange  hissing. 
It  was  but  the  cry  of  the  drowning  flames, 
where  the  soldiers  were  extinguishing  the 
fires.  A  weird,  regular  clank-clank,  grow 
ing  first,  then  fading,  filled  out  the  fearful 
stillness.  It  was  but  the  hoof-beat  of  the 
sentinel's  horse  patrolling  the  silent  street. 

The  world  seemed  dead  and  mute  save 
for  his  own  leaden  heart-beats. 

Where  was  Babe  Maryam — where,  Vet- 
ter  Yossef?  No  one  spoke.  Had  they 
fallen  asleep,  or  been  swept  out  with  the 
mob? 

"  Babele,"  whispered  Shimmele.  Noth 
ing  answered. 

"  Yossef — little  uncle — "     Only  silence. 

The  night  wind  blew  in  through  the 
broken  panes  and  the  empty  frame  where 
hung  the  wreck  of  the  door. 

Shimmele  quaked  with  cold  and  tearless 
terror. 

"  Babele— my  Babele !  " 

"  Oh— little  uncle !  " 

290 


SHIMMELE   PRAYS 


He  rose  to  his  feet,  and  stretched  out 
his  hands  in  the  darkness.  A  cold,  hard 
something  reached  out  and  touched  him 
ghostily.  He  shrank  back  into  his  corner 
chattering  with  terror. 

The  silence  grew  more  dense;  the  sen 
tinel  ceased  his  rounds,  a  fine  rain  began 
to  fall  softly  from  the  sky,  as  if  nature  wept 
or  strove  to  wash  away  the  ghastly  blood 
stain  from  its  face. 

O  the  night,  the  endless  night.  O  the 
black,  ghastly,  whispering  horror  of  the 
night ! 

At  last — at  last — the  ashen  pall  of  death 
spread  over  the  face  of  darkness;  far  in  the 
east  a  faint  bloom  of  rose  was  born,  grow 
ing  ever  bright  and  brighter,  as  if  feeding 
on  the  decay  of  the  night.  It  was  morn 
ing.  Shimmele  saw  the  outlines  of  the 
room  take  gradual  shape.  Near  him  lay 
the  overturned  table  whose  outstretched 
legs  had  touched  him  ghostily  in  the  dark; 
furniture,  clothes,  crockery,  lay  a  scattered 

291 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


wreck  together;  the  poor  little  treasure  of 
Maryam's  Kist,  her  sweet  white  linen,  lay 
torn  and  trampled  where  the  raiders  had 
dropped  it  in  their  flight,  and  near  the 
door — a  ghostly  something — .  No,  no, 
he  could  not  look,  and  shaking  as  with 
palsy  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

There  was  a  sound  as  of  fleet,  slinking 
footsteps;  a  human  being — help — a  friend; 
he  rushed  to  the  window.  There  was 
nothing — only  the  pink  morning  and  the 
wreck  of  the  Gass.  Near  the  window  lay 
the  charred,  smouldering  heap  of  a  bon 
fire;  blackened  remnants  of  tables,  beds, 
and  chairs,  and  towering  above  all,  still 
lordly  in  its  ruin,  Reb  Noach's  half-burnt 
fauteml.  A  twittering  in  the  old  nut-tree 
drew  his  eyes  upward,  and  there  they  lin 
gered,  for  in  the  night  the  first  stirring  of 
spring  had  breathed  over  the  Gass,  and 
gathered  like  a  hoar-frost  on  the  wide 
branches  of  the  tree,  dusting  them  lightly 
as  with  a  coat  of  faintest  green.  The  spar- 

292 


SHIMMELE   PRAYS 


rows  in  its  boughs  chirped  of  nest-building. 
One  of  them  flew  down,  and  selecting  a 
straw  laid  therewith  the  foundation  of  his 
house.  Shimmele  saw  that  the  straw  was 
a  bit  of  tumbled  wisp,  bulging  out  of  a 
little  torn  bed-tick,  which  lay  near  a  half- 
charred  cradle,  and  recognized  both  as 
Bele  Loser's — her  little  black  cradle, 
which  he  had  never  seen  when  it  did  not 
hold  a  baby.  How  empty  was  the  world, 
how  silent,  how  strange ! 

A  distant  sound  of  knocking  reminded 
him  of  Eisak  Schulklopfer. 

"  If  my  Babele  were  not  lying  there  so 
cold  and  stiff,  on  the  floor,"  he  thought, 
"  she  would  now  be  at  my  bedside,  saying, 
'  Shimmele,  my  life,  come,  get  up — it's 
time  for  prayers  V 

Then  Shimmele  remembered  God.  He 
turned  to  where  those  silent  forms  lay  side 
by  side,  Maryam's  withered  hand  on  Yos- 
sef's  breast,  where  she  had  raised  it  to 
shield  him.  He  did  not  weep,  he  was 

293 


IDYLS  OF  THE  GASS 


stunned  and  dumb.  With  a  fine,  deep  in 
stinct,  feeling  that  he  must  hide  those  dear, 
dead  forms  from  the  cruel,  searching  light 
of  day,  he  covered  them  with  a  sheet — 
Yossef  tenderly — he  was  used  to  being 
taken  care  of  by  Shimmele;  Maryam  with 
almost  a  sense  of  shame — Maryam  the 
strong,  the  helpful,  the  self-reliant.  She 
would  have  chafed,  had  she  known  how 
she  lay  there,  a  helpless  clod,  on  the 
floor. 

Then  he  washed  and  dressed  himself 
neatly,  as  he  knew  his  grandmother  would 
have  wished  it;  covered  his  head  with  his 
little  velvet  cap,  and  found  Maryam's  old 
black  Siddiir  (prayer-book).  It  was  too 
large  for  his  small  hands  to  grasp;  so  he 
held  it  in  his  outstretched  arms  as  though 
it  were  an  infant,  and  turning  his  face  away 
from  the  wreck  of  the  dear  Backstub,  away 
from  the  horror  of  those  still,  sheeted 
forms,  he  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  east,  towards 
Zion,  the  Hope,  the  Joyous,  whence 

294 


SHIMMELE   PRAYS 


glowed  the  rosy  dawn  of  a  sweet  spring 
day  and  began  his  morning  prayer: 

"The  Lord  of  the  Universe— He  it  is 
who  reigned  before  any  being  was  creat 
ed,"  he  prayed,  and  at  last  the  deep  well 
of  his  great  woe  overflowed.  Shimmele 
wept.  His  tears  flowed  in  swift  rills  upon 
the  old  yellow  pages  of  Maryam's  prayer- 
book. 

"  Though  all  the  Universe  would  vanish, 
He  alone  would  remain,  the  mighty 
Ruler.  .  .  He  is  One,  and  there  is  none 
beside.  The  Lord  is  my  living  Redeemer, 
my  Rock  in  time  of  affliction.  Into  His 
hands  I  commit  my  spirit.  God  is  with 
me,  what  shall  I  fear — "  sobbed  Shimmele. 


295 


STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


NOV  23  1937 

DEC  1  Q  19'$ 

ft-L-Hfcw-  ^  ono/^ 
U  b  i  i 

i^KWkM  PK^  rn^  K 

0' 

^   V'*'      «fi/?    1    ^     1Q7, 

R£CE!V£n 

*%*fc»r  TCI/ 

OCT  ;  51996 

IRCULATSON  DEPT. 

RECEIVED 

OCT  2  2  t996 

ClHuULAl  tON  Dcr  i 

RECEIVED 

41  A  II     (\    C    4AA^ 

NOV  0  5  1996 

CIRCULATION  DEP1 

LD  21-9  5  wi-  7/3  7 

U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


